Verity
by muhnemma
Summary: A series of oneshots set during and after RotG from Numair's perspective. NumairxDaine.
1. Temptation

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters.

* * *

Numair sighed and tried to sink as far as he could into the warm water. He'd been looking forward to a hot bath all day and, after battling a rather vicious nest of spidrens, he felt he'd earned the right to at least that small comfort. But it seemed the Gods, or his exceedingly long legs, were conspiring against him. He'd be surprised if Daine could sit comfortably in the small tin tub he'd been provided to bathe in; as it was, he had to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest to fit inside. 

Thinking longingly of home, where everything was built to accommodate his height, he gave up on getting properly clean and stepped out of the tub. A shiver ran through his body as his foot touched the bare wooden floorboard. The ramshackle inn where they were spending the night provided only the most basic protection from the elements; although they were safe from the rain and wind that raged outside, the bitter cold of winter was all pervasive, and seemed to sink into the very bones of him. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn't been forced to make yet another camp out in the open, but he couldn't help but grumble to himself. He _detested _the cold.

Moving quickly, he towelled off and dug around in his pack for a fresh set of clothes. After a few moments of rummaging he discovered a tunic and pair of breeches that weren't caked in mud: a rare sight these days. Muttering thanks for the small piece of good luck, he pulled them on and then bound his thick hair back with a leather thong. He fretted over it for a moment, trying to make stray strands lie flat against his head. The realisation of the futility of his efforts, coupled with a voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Daine) teasing him about his vanity, made him stop.

No sooner had he given up on his useless grooming than there was a knock on the door. He opened it and found Daine smiling up at him, carrying two bowls of what looked like stew and a rolled up blanket under her arm. His heart twisted with a strange mix of emotions: elation to see her and sadness at the deep weariness evident in her eyes. Since the barrier between the Realms dissolved they'd both received more than their fair share of trouble and grief, and it was beginning to show in the young woman's face.

"I found us some supper," Daine said, gently pushing her way past Numair into his room. "Though I couldn't tell you what it is," She raised one of the bowls to her eyes and eyed it critically, trying to determine the contents. After a few seconds she gave up and shrugged. "As long as it's not game it'll do for me."

"Perhaps we should eat downstairs," Numair said, still hovering anxiously next to the open door. "The inn keeper might-might get the wrong idea." He'd always been able to laugh it off when gossips insinuated that he and Daine shared a bed; their friends knew that he loved and respected Daine and, more importantly, so did she. Lately he was easily angered by people's sordid ideas. Mostly because those same sordid ideas, his lips closing on Daine's, running his fingers through her unruly curls, featured prominently in his imaginings.

"Mithros take me, Numair, when did you start to care about what the likes of him thinks?" She set the bowls down on a rickety table and settled herself in an equally unstable looking chair. Crossing her arms firmly over her chest, she shot Numair a look that clearly told him she wouldn't be moved. "You've no cause to fret in any case. The inn keeper's had his eyes stuck on my backside since we arrived. His thoughts may not be as white as a lily but I doubt you're in any of them."

"His eyes have been _where_?" Numair spluttered. Ideas of how to teach the man a lesson in manners began whizzing through his mind. He could have a cordial word with him, just as he'd done with Kaddar when the prince had gotten too close to his student. Or he could remove one of his limbs. No doubt either way would work, but at that moment Numair was finding the latter vastly more appealing.

"Sit down and eat," Daine ordered. "Mayhap later I'll let you give him some leaves."

"You would think I'd created a whole orchard out of men, the way you go on about that." He grumbled, reluctantly taking a seat opposite her. He speared a grey lump of meat with his fork and brought it up to his nose, sniffing it gingerly. It didn't smell like any food he knew, but he didn't have the luxury of choice. Trying not to feel, taste, or in any other way sense the meat, he took a large bite and gulped it down. He was rather relieved to discover that it didn't really have a flavour; no taste was better than a foul one.

Teacher and student ate their meal swiftly and in silence. There was no reason for haste, but recently they'd grown accustomed to having to bolt down food before being called out to the latest emergency, and they were finding it hard to break the habit. Once the bowls were clean and the rumbling of their stomachs had been silenced, Numair produced a bottle of wine he'd purchased earlier. He suspected that it would be watered down but the only other drink on sale was ale, which didn't seem to agree well with Daine. He poured some into her glass and then sloshed a rather more generous measure into his own. Taking a sip, he winced. His suspicion had been correct: he might as well take a drink from a lake. Across the table, Daine was looking equally unimpressed.

"We'll be home soon," She said, pushing away the dusty goblet of wine. "Only another day's ride."

"Home." Numair's eyes misted over in the way they always did when he thought of the piles of scrolls and books that awaited him in his study.

"Yes, mighty mage, you'll be back amongst your books soon enough." She teased him gently.

"I'm sure you'll find something to occupy your time," Numair said quietly, carefully avoiding her eyes. "Master Perin, perhaps." Perin. He'd never really taken much notice of the boy. That was until Alanna mentioned that he'd become Daine's most devoted admirer. After that he'd taken a great interest in the clerk, and had discovered he didn't like him one bit. He detested the way his eyes lingered inappropriately on her body, the way he'd 'accidentally' bump into her so he could touch her. The logical part of Numair's brain, the bit that rarely had anything to do with his feelings for Daine, protested that he'd dislike Perin even if he was the most honourable of suitors, but he did his best to ignore it.

So caught up in gloomy thoughts about Perin, it took Numair a while to notice that Daine hadn't answered him. When he looked up he found her staring out of the window, a small frown creasing her forehead. "Daine?" He called out softly.

Daine jumped slightly, startled out of whatever reverie she was in. "Sorry, I had my head in the clouds for a moment."

"Mooning over Perin?" Numair asked, unable to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice despite his best attempts.

Daine stared at him, confused, as if trying to fathom what she'd just heard in his voice. Eventually she shook her head and turned her eyes back to the window. "Perin's been very – what's that word you taught me? – _ranbunctious _of late."

Numair frowned, having a very good idea of what Daine meant but hoping that he was wrong. "Rambunctious," He corrected automatically. "What do you mean?"

Even in the rapidly fading evening light he could see the blush that worked its way up her cheeks. Despite her embarrassment she managed to look him in the eye and say, "He doesn't know to keep his hands to himself."

Numair almost knocked over his glass of wine. That weasel of a boy! He should have warned him off, scared him, as he'd done once before. To think that he could have hurt his Daine – No, not his. But Perin, the presumptuous buffoon, still wasn't worthy of her. "I see," He said, his calm voice giving no indication of the sudden anger that had sprung up inside of him. "Would you like him to go the same way as Tristan Staghorn, or is there some other plant you'd prefer?"

Daine grinned broadly. "This is why people keep bringing that up. It's not needful, Numair. We were visiting the stables when he got _rambunctious_," She pronounced the word carefully, avoiding her earlier mistake "And it fair vexed Cloud. She gave him a bite that'll make him keep his manners in mind until at least the summer solstice."

"Even so," He muttered. "It wouldn't do any harm to reinforce the lesson."

Still smiling, Daine rose from her seat and something slipped off her lap. It was the blanket she'd arrived with which had gone forgotten during their meal and subsequent talk. Scooping it up off the floor, she threw it to Numair who caught it easily. "I thought you could use an extra blanket more than me. I know you hate being cold." She waved away his protests and then seated herself on the foot of the bed, looking over at him expectantly. "Do you still want to have a lesson tonight?" She asked.

"Would you remind me what exactly it was that I wanted to teach you?"

"You said that my 'knowledge of myths is sadly lacking.'"

"And right I was," He said, pulling the uncomfortable chair he was seated on closer to the bed. "Shall we begin?"

Daine fidgeted, trying to make herself comfortable. Eventually she lay on her stomach, propped her head up with her hands and told Numair she was ready. He launched into an explanation of a legend which he hoped wouldn't bore his student too much. Although her passion for learning quite often matched his, she didn't share his enthusiasm for the old tales. Often when he tried to tell her of such things he'd look up and see the faraway expression in her eyes that meant she'd slipped into a daydream. Now, he allowed his own eyes to shut as he spoke, and imagined the people, creatures and deities from the stories he was recounting.

By the time he finished night had fallen completely, and the only light came from the moon, which was large and bright now that the storm clouds had dispersed. Looking over at Daine, he saw that her head had lolled forwards onto the mattress. Her deep, even breathing told him that she was asleep. Sighing, he got to his feet and wondered what to do. Sharing a room for the night was out of the question. Despite what she had said earlier, he didn't want her to wake up to gossip. On the other hand, he was loathe to disturb her. She got so little rest; he didn't want to wake her, not when she looked so peaceful. The best course of action seemed to be to leave Daine where she was and spend the night in her room.

As gently as he could, he rolled her over so that she was lying on her back. She murmured unintelligibly and her brow creased, but she didn't wake. Once he was sure he hadn't disturbed her rest, Numair unlaced her heavy boots and pulled them off, letting them fall to the floor with a muffled thud. He covered her completely with the blanket she'd brought him and then, raising her head slightly, slipped a pillow beneath it. When he'd done all he could to ensure her comfort, he pressed a single, chaste kiss against her forehead. Her full lips, open slightly in sleep, looked awfully tempting. But, unlike the bumbling clerk, he wouldn't force his unwanted affection on her. The kiss he'd placed on her brow would sustain him until the next time she threw her arms around him or pecked his cheek.

Straightening, he noticed that one of her chestnut curls had tumbled across her face. He brushed it off her cheek and she moved closer to him, nuzzling into the palm of his hand. For a moment, as her hot skin burned his cold fingers, his control teetered dangerously on the edge. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to lie beside her, gather her up in his arms, kiss her. Then she turned her head and he quickly pulled his hand back, reproaching himself for his weakness.

Before temptation could seize him again, he hurried to the door. "Goodnight Magelet." He murmured, then slipped through the door and was gone.


	2. Fever

Numair stormed through the corridors of the palace. The air surrounding him seemed to crackle and spark, and his usually warm eyes blazed with an unfamiliar anger. Servants, pages and messengers who happened to meet him coming in the opposite direction dashed out of his path into the nearest empty room. However, he didn't encounter many people. Almost all residents of the palace, from the lowliest errand runners to the nobles, had been warned: Master Numair returns today. _Do not hinder him. _

The cause of Numair's anger was his normally much loved and respected monarch, Jonathan. He had sent him more than two day's ride away to battle an influx of Immortals. He'd sent him away from the palace, away from Daine, while she lay delirious with unicorn fever. The annoying logical part of him spoke up again, reasoning that they were in a crisis, and Jonathon wouldn't have sent him out unless it was absolutely necessary. Numair was in no mood to pay heed to this argument, right as it was. All that concerned him was that Daine could have succumbed to her fever and died while he was off fighting.

A small part of him, a part which he would never consciously acknowledge, had been grateful for the fight. Sitting at Daine's beside while she moaned and writhed in pain was the worse torture he'd ever endured, worse even than anything Ozorne could visit upon him. He'd felt so small, so helpless. He didn't deserve his black robe, his grand reputation if he couldn't help one he loved when it mattered.

When the fever reached its zenith her skin had burned impossibly hot underneath his hand, yet she still trembled with shivers. She'd pleaded with him to hold her or wrap her in blankets, anything to chase away the chills. But the healers insisted that her temperature must be lowered. Instead of covering her up he'd removed the blankets she already had; instead of taking her in his arms, like he so longed to do, he'd placed damp pieces of cloth on her forehead. She'd looked up at him, wide eyes filling with tears, in her delirious state unable to comprehend why he was adding to her pain.

Filled with guilt from the hurt he'd seen in her eyes and terrified for her fate, Numair had plunged into a black mood. The healers worked tentatively, scared that a wrong move or word would bring his anger on them. One healer attempted to remove him from the room, arguing that they couldn't care for Daine properly under such conditions, but he'd quelled under Numair's murderous gaze. That was the day Jon sent him away.

As he gave Numair his orders, Jon's handsome face had been pale and drawn. His eyes had pleaded with his friend, silently begging him to understand that he wouldn't ask this if he didn't need to. Numair understood the logic: Daine was important, but more lives than hers were at risk. With their forces stretched as thin as they were, he was needed. Jon couldn't spare his greatest mage, the only warrior currently in reserve who was capable of defeating a battalion of Immortals. Numair understood, but that didn't make him any less furious.

He reached the door to Daine's room and almost collided with a healer coming out. The healer took a hurried step back, looking as though he were afraid Numair would scorch him with lightning. Numair noticed that, although he looked weary, the worried expression that all Daine's healers had worn a few days ago had dropped away. "How is she?" He asked.

"Healing, Master Numair," The healer said, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. "The fever has broken and she's mending fast. At times she lapses into delirium, but that's the effort it took to fight the illness taking its toll on her, not the illness itself."

"She'll survive?" Numair asked, barely allowing himself to hope.

"Certainly. She will need at least another week of bed rest and some solid meals before she can get up, but she'll be back to normal soon."

Numair visibly sagged, relief crashing down on him in waves. The healer took his chance to escape and slipped away, practically running down the corridor. Numair watched him go with regret; he hadn't had the chance to thank him for what he'd done or to apologise for his earlier behaviour. He made a mental note to track down everyone who'd cared for Daine and let them know they had his gratitude. But that would come later. Now he needed to see his Magelet.

She was lying in bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a reassuringly steady way. He perched himself carefully on the mattress, trying not to disturb her rest. Needing to feel for himself that the fever was truly gone, he placed a gentle hand on her cheek. Her skin was cool and soft against his fingertips. She turned her head and nuzzled into the palm of his hand, mumbling incoherently in her sleep. He could have stayed like that for hours, content with the slight touch and the sight of her. But if any of the Great Gods knew of this desire they clearly weren't in the mood to grant a humble mage his wish; after only a few moments alone with Daine, Kit hurtled into the room, her scales a violent red.

Whistling loudly, she leapt off the floor and landed on Numair's lap. He resisted the selfish impulse to remove her from the room. Kit had been banned from seeing her ma while she was ill, and long separations deeply saddened both of them. He may have missed Daine so much it made him ache, but he wasn't the only one. Kit reared back and placed her forepaws against his shoulders, butting her head against his affectionately. Her colour was beginning to fade, becoming more of a pale pink than the ferocious shade it had been before. "Hush Kit," Numair murmured when she chirped happily. "You'll wake Daine."

"Numair?" Daine's voice was groggy. Wincing slightly as long unused muscles were stretched, she propped herself up against the wooden headboard. She blinked at him blearily. "You've a face like a thunder cloud."

Numair's face broke into its first smile in over a week. "It's clear you're feeling better. Awake for less than a minute and already you are insulting me." She only had a chance to grin at him before Kit was on her, chirping her joy. Daine ran her fingers over her charge's scales, murmuring soothing words. The dragonet proceeded to settle in Daine's lap, curling up like a contented cat.

Noticing that she still rested against the uncomfortable wooden headboard, Numair plucked a pillow off the bed and slid it behind her head. Bent over her, their faces so close, he didn't seem to be able to pull back. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her eyes; so recently he'd been terrified he'd never lose himself in those blue-grey depths again. Now he wanted to absorb every facet of her face, from stubborn chin to the smoky curls that constantly fell in her eyes, and engrave it into his memory.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck and pulled him down. He returned the embrace eagerly, drawing her close to him and burying his face in her loose hair. Surrounded by her, by the scent of her freshly washed hair, by her tired, trembling arms, he could finally admit that she was safe and alive. The tears that had been held back all week by anger and frustration finally began to spill, dripping down onto the top of her head. "Never scare me like that again." He said, his voice strangled.

Daine chuckled weakly. "I'll do my best," She mumbled into his shoulder. A silence followed that Numair was unwilling to break. Too soon Daine would have other visitors clamouring to speak to her now she was recovering. For the moment he was content just to hold her. It was Daine who eventually spoke. "Numair," She began hesitantly. "Where did you go?"

Numair's heart sank at the hurt he heard in her voice and he automatically tightened his arms around her, forgetting her soreness. She gasped and he loosened his embrace, but was unwilling to let go completely. "I'm sorry, Magelet," He said quietly. "There was an attack by a group of Immortals that Jon asked me to see to. I would never have left you but there was no one else."

"But you were here at the start? When I first got ill?"

"Of course I was."

"Did you…" She trailed off and he felt rather than saw her shake her head.

"Go on," He urged.

"It's nothing. I just had the strangest dream. You seemed to think that my hair needed cutting."

Numair was suddenly very glad that her face was pressed into his shoulder so she couldn't see his cheeks darken. He was very conscious of the lock of hair that lay in his pocket. Since leaving Daine's bedside he'd kept it with him, scared that someone might find it or that he might lose it. When he'd taken it from her he thought she had been asleep. Apparently he had been mistaken. Forcing a laugh he said, "Rest assured, Magelet, I love your hair just the way it is."

Perhaps hearing something odd in his voice, Daine pulled away, looking at him curiously. She opened her mouth but before she could speak, Kit trilled and pushed her snout into Daine's chest. Daine sighed and tickled her lightly. "I 'spose you want some attention," She said. Numair shrank away, never more grateful for an interruption than he was at that moment.


	3. Belated Presents

Tortall was coming to life. Trees that had stood bare all winter began sprouting fresh green leaves. The steely clouds gave way to blue sky and refreshing showers; the snow and ice that had covered the ground for weeks thawed, allowing tender shoots of grass to push their way through the earth. Throughout the land people cleaned out their dwellings and, as the wildmage could testify, the animals were doing the same. It was clear that spring had finally arrived.

That's why so many people were surprised when Numair Salmalin began doling out Midwinter gifts. Those who were friends with the mage were accustomed to his odd ways, and accepted their very belated presents without question. The Midwinter celebrations had been delayed for these people too; on that day they'd been woken with the extremely disturbing news that the barrier between realms had evaporated. Instead of swapping gifts or feasting they'd donned armour and taken up weapons. Most of them had only delayed the private festivities within their families for a week or so, but not many had been worked as hard as Numair and his young student. They'd only once stayed at the palace for any length of time since the barrier fell, and that was when Daine contracted unicorn fever.

When they'd reported to King Jonathon after their latest mission, he'd taken one look at their exhausted faces and ordered them to take a break. Two miraculously uninterrupted days at the palace past before Numair decided to distribute his gifts. He'd been putting it off since Midwinter, but now that he wasn't fighting Immortals or traipsing all over the country he no longer had an excuse to delay it. The problem was the presents he'd so carefully selected and wrapped for Daine. They'd seemed so innocent when he bought them, but like so many other things since his realisation of a few months before, such as hugs and kisses on the cheek, he was now terrified that she'd see his love and desire for her in them. What if she looked at the gifts and saw not something that was appropriate to receive from a teacher or friend, but from a lover or admirer?

For a while he hoped that everyone would forget he'd neglected to hand out gifts this year, so he could be spared giving Daine hers. But then Thom, Aly and Alan had discovered his secret hoard; he'd cracked under their combined pleading and had allowed them to have theirs. A few hours later George and Alanna began teasing him, demanding to know where their presents were. After he'd given them their gifts he could no longer hold back Daine's. He'd rather risk the embarrassment of her discovering his secret than allow her to think he'd forgotten about her.

On the third morning of his stay at the palace, he began searching for her. She wasn't in any of her usual haunts: there was no sign of her in the stables, the paddocks or her room. Eventually he tracked down Onua, who told him that she'd pass on the message that he was looking for her if she were to see her. Feeling despondent, he'd returned to his rooms to wait. As was usual, a book caught his eye. He settled down on the bed, intending to pass the hours by reading, but the warmth of the room and the exertion of the last few months conspired against him. Surrounded by plump pillows and a soft mattress, his eyes soon slid shut and the book slipped from his hands.

He woke to a shrill whistle and a cry of "Kit! Get off there now!" Opening his eyes, he found a long snout hovering over his face. Kitten gave a happy chirp and then jumped off the bed, returning to her ma's side. Numair noted that a lovely blush had worked its way up Daine's cheeks, probably because of disturbing his rest. "Sorry," she grinned apologetically. "Kit got impatient when you didn't answer the door and decided to open the lock herself." She glowered briefly at the dragonet before returning her gaze to Numair. "I hear you're giving out presents."

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he nodded. "I tried to find you earlier but no one knew where you were."

Her blush deepened and she muttered something about "being busy". Numair's thoughts jumped immediately to Perin. Had she been alone somewhere with the unworthy fool? He tried to push the thought out of his mind. Hadn't Daine herself hinted that she knew he only wanted to bed her? Surely she wouldn't want to have anything to do with him after realising that. Would she?

Numair was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt the mattress dip slightly. Daine settled herself on the end of the bed, crossing her legs and balancing two parcels on her lap. "What are they?" He asked, eyeing the parcels.

"Your presents. I've been trying to find a spare moment to give them to you since Midwinter."

"You shouldn't have bought me anything!" He spluttered, hoping that whatever she'd got him hadn't cost her too much. To hide his sudden embarrassment he leant over and pulled her presents from beneath the bed.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly. You tell me the same thing every year and it hasn't stopped me so far."

"Maybe you should listen to your teacher," he said gravely, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. He plucked one of the brightly wrapped presents out of the pile he'd just retrieved and thrust it towards her. Even though he judged this one to be the safest, the most appropriate, his heart still hammered as she opened it. He only relaxed once she began exclaiming excitedly over her new pair of boots. They were made of tough leather on the outside but were as soft as butter on the inside, so they wouldn't pain her feet on long walks.

After thanking him she handed him one of the packages she'd brought. "Your turn," she told him. Carefully tearing away the brown paper wrapping, he discovered a book. It was one he'd coveted for months, and his eyes had been glued to it every time he'd visited the bookseller in Corus. Having never mentioned it, he had no idea how Daine had known about it. Seeing the astonishment on his face she said, "Your eyes near jumped out of your head when you first saw it, and more'n once the merchant complained about you thumbing the pages without buying it."

"There was a good reason I didn't buy it, Magelet," he scolded gently. "It would have left my coin purse considerably lighter. I know that merchant well; I'd wager he charged you twice what it was worth."

A slow, decidedly wicked, smile spread over Daine's face. Numair was all too familiar with it. It was the same one she wore whenever she and Kitten were making some mischief together, or when she slipped away in the form of a cat or a dog to avoid a boring court function. "I don't know," she said quietly. "You'd be amazed how willing people are to lower their prices when you've got a dragon and the Lioness with you."

"The poor man didn't stand a chance," he said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. "You must have scared him half to death."

"It could have been worse. I could have given myself a lion's roar or a bear's claws. Or I could have turned myself into a skunk."

Laughing and shaking his head, he handed her the next present. This one was a book full of blank pages, a journal of sorts. Throughout his time as Daine's teacher, Numair had always provided her with whatever books she needed to further her studies. However, it had only recently occurred to him that she should record her findings about animals. In the few short years since she'd discovered and begun training her Wild Magic, she'd garnered more information about the People and Immortals than he ever could have imagined. She knew more about certain things than mages who had been studying since before she was born. Hadn't she amazed his own teacher, Lindhall, with her knowledge of bats and whales? Why shouldn't she commit that knowledge to paper? Someday it could even be an invaluable resource to those whose field of study was animals.

She gasped when she unwrapped it, running her fingers appreciatively over the designs impressed on the leather cover. But when she opened it and instead of words or illustrations found only blank pages, her brow furrowed in a small frown of confusion. Speaking quietly, Numair explained his idea that she should record the discoveries she made whilst talking to and healing animals. "You know, I've never thought of doing anything like that before," she said slowly, her smile reappearing. "It could be useful, especially when it comes to healing. Say if I write down the troubles I come across when healing a cat, it could help me not make the same mistakes the next time I heal one."

"That's one idea, but I thought others could read it as well. Students and mages and the like," Numair said.

Daine's eyebrows shot up. "I doubt anyone would be interested in reading anything I have to write."

"Daine," Numair said, the sternness in his voice now genuine. "You are constantly underestimating your worth. You're more knowledgeable about the People and Immortals than scholars who have spent their entire lives studying them. Lindhall has been searching for answers to complex questions about animal behaviour and functions for years, but he never found them until he met you. If you have the power to impress Lindhall, the teacher of yours truly, then I assure you there will be plenty of people interested in reading what you have to write."

Daine's cheeks bypassed pink and went straight to a flaming red, her usual reaction to compliments. Numair hadn't meant to embarrass her, but he wasn't flattering her or exaggerating her talents; he was merely speaking the truth. She leaned forwards and allowed her hair to tumble down and veil her face, hiding her blush. Without another word she picked up the other package and held it out to him. He hesitated before taking it. "You'll think about what I said?" He asked.

"I'll think about it," she grumbled. "Now open your present."

This one was a wooden box. The design was simple and it was fastened with a golden lock. He took the small key she offered and opened the lid, discovering that the inside was lined with plush black velvet. Around the sides, held in place by delicate chains, were several sturdy looking glass vials, each with its own silver stopper. "I thought it might be useful when we're on the move to store your potions in," she explained. A smirk crept slowly over her face. "Or your fancy hand lotions."

He glared at her playfully before thanking her and handing over the final gift. This was the one he was most worried about, a most unconventional gift for a teacher to give his student. He'd wanted to get her something special, a piece of jewellery, but he hadn't known what. Earrings were out of the question (he'd already bought her some) as was a necklace as she never removed the badger claw that hung around her neck. Eventually, after weeks of pondering, he'd settled on a bracelet. He'd taken great pains to design it himself, and then had found a jeweller willing to make it for him. The bracelet itself was a simple silver chain, but four miniature figures hung from it. After getting permission from the jeweller he'd pressed images of Tahoi, Brokefang, Cloud and Kitten into his mind. The jeweller had recreated them almost perfectly in silver and then attached them to the chain. As Daine disliked extravagance, there were only a few, tiny gems on the bracelet. Cloud, Tahoi and Brokefang each had a pair of deep brown sapphires for eyes, whereas Kitten had amber.

Holding his breath, he watched her unwrap and then upend the small velvet pouch which held the bracelet. She grinned widely, but as she examined it more closely the smile turned into open mouthed amazement. She inspected each of the tiny figures in turn, raising them to her eyes and then running her fingertips gently over every hoof, tail and paw. "They look just like my friends," she murmured, awe clear in her voice.

"I gave my memories of them to the jeweller," Numair said nervously. "Do you like it?"

Her answer came in the form of a bone crushing hug. Winding her arms around his neck, she buried her face against his shoulder. Only when she reassured him that she loved her present did he push his fears aside and allow himself to wrap his arms around her. They remained in that position for a few moments, Numair both loving the feel of Daine in his arms and hating himself for it. Eventually she broke the silence by saying, "Can you get into my head?"

Numair started, pushing Daine away from him. Get into her head? That's exactly the kind of thing he could do with the focus he'd made. His own hidden bracelet felt like it was burning on his wrist, and he was sure that she could see it for all that it was concealed by powerful spells. Did this mean she knew about the focus? If she did, did she really think so little of him? Staring down at her upturned face, he could find no trace of anger, only confusion. "What on earth do you mean, Magelet?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Do you remember when I first came here and you used your Gift through me? The night we saw the water sprite?"

How could he forget that night? For as long as he lived, the memory of seeing that undine would never leave him. Few people were ever granted the gift of a glimpse of the shy creatures. He nodded, "Of course."

"Well can you see through me like I saw through your Gift that night?"

"Do you mean could I see things through your Wild Magic?"

She shook her head. "Could you see things through my eyes? If I changed my eyes to an owl's or a fox's could you see like that too?"

Numair pinched the bridge of his long nose, thinking. "I could," he said slowly. "But there might be some negative consequences. I would have to enter you mind, so I would be able sense your thoughts and feelings to a certain extent."

Daine grinned. "All the better. I'll need to be able to talk to you without saying anything." She slipped off the bed and took hold of his hand, pulling him after her.

"You actually want me to do this? Now?" He asked incredulously.

"You won't be able to see your last present if you don't." She began hurrying towards the door, all but dragging him behind her. Numair was about to ask what she meant and where she was taking him, but before he had the chance an ear splitting whistle sliced through the air. Both of them cried out and Daine released her grip on him to clap her hands over her ears. Kitten glared at them, her scales a murky grey. Throughout their gift swapping she had lain unnoticed at the bottom of the bed, falling deeper and deeper into a sulk as she was ignored.

"I haven't forgotten about you," Numair said gently. He moved back to the bed and scooped up the remaining present, which he placed in front of Kitten. She wasted no time in pulling away the paper and was soon chirping her delight. Her gift was a box of brightly coloured sweets in every conceivable size, shape and flavour. Within seconds she was gulping down large, violet balls of sugar.

"That was fair sweet of you," Daine said, watching the dragonet with a small smile. "But she'll be awfully sick later. Come on, we need to go." Taking hold of Numair once again, she led him out of the room and through the palace. He tried unsuccessfully several times to question her about where they were going. Each time she replied curtly that it was a surprise, and he should learn some of the patience he kept nagging her to get.

Soon they had left the palace all together and were trudging across the gardens. Once the gardens had been left behind they past by both the stables and the paddocks. The forest came into sight and Numair felt sure that now they would be stopping, but Daine showed no signs of slowing down. He paused at the edge of the trees and she looked up at him, frowning. "We're not there yet," she said.

"If we're going into the forest we will need light," he said, raising his hand to produce the ball of light that would enable them to see in the darkness. Before he could create it, Daine wrapped her fingers around his wrist and shook her head.

"No light," she commanded.

"Need I remind you that it's pitch black? We won't be able to see a thing."

"_You _won't be able to see a thing," she corrected. "I'll be able to see just fine. All you need to do is keep hold of me and I'll make sure you don't bump into anything. We can't talk either."

"If we can't speak, how will I know when you want me to enter your mind?"

"I'll let you know."

Numair hesitated, frowning. It seemed foolish to him, especially when he didn't know the reason why they needed the restrictions. The pleading look in her eyes was what swayed him. He reluctantly agreed, allowing her to take him by the hand and pull him into the forest. As only Daine was able to see, their progress was slow, with Numair often stumbling over roots and fallen branches. Every time he almost lost balance Daine's hands were on shoulders or chest, steadying him.

After roughly half an hour of walking they stopped abruptly and Numair felt Daine's hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently downwards. He obliged and sat down, wincing as he came into contact with the cold, damp earth. Daine nudged his ankle with the tip of her boot, urging him to part his legs. Once he was seated correctly she settled herself between his thighs, her back almost against his chest. Grasping his hands, she brought them up and placed his fingers against her temples. Numair took this as the signal to begin forging the connection between their minds.

It took much longer than he'd anticipated. After years of meditation and learning how to control his thoughts, minor distractions no longer threatened his concentration. However, having Daine pressed so close against him hardly counted as a 'minor distraction'. The scent of her hair or a flyaway strand tickling his nose was enough to drag his mind away from the task at hand. Her hands resting on his thighs were maddening, and every time the biting cold made her shiver all thoughts but pulling her even closer to him deserted his head.

After scolding himself so many times he lost count and concentrating so hard he developed a headache, he finally entered Daine's mind. The next time he opened his eyes he could see every detail of their surroundings perfectly. She must have changed her eyes to resemble those of a nocturnal creature's, although he was unsure of which. _Here, _he called to her silently.

_I'll begin, _she said. Although he knew she hadn't opened her mouth, it sounded as if she'd whispered the words into his ear.

Before Daine had a chance to begin whatever it was they were here for, a distant howl reached her ears. Her sudden longing slammed into Numair. An image of running unbound through the woods flitted into his mind. He could smell scents from Daine's memory: pine leaves, damp earth and the unmistakeable musk of wolves. The image changed and he could see a clearing in the trees. Furry bodies curled up together, sleeping peacefully. He could feel the heat coming from them and could hear their gentle breathing as if they were real and he was standing right next to them. The most overwhelming feeling was one of home, belonging, of being one with the pack.

_Concentrate! Remember! _Daine ordered herself sharply. The image of the clearing faded and was instantly replaced with one of himself. The shock of seeing himself as Daine saw him almost broke his concentration, but he steadied himself just in time, keeping the link between their minds intact. The Numair in Daine's mind lounged in an armchair, a book open in his lap, tugging his nose absentmindedly as he read. As if sensing that he was being watched, he looked up and a slow, lazy smile spread over his face. Again he experienced Daine's feeling of belonging, similar to what he had felt with the pack but not quite the same. There was something different that he couldn't quite identify.

_Not tonight, pack brother, _Daine called to the wolf who had cried out. There was a fleeting sadness before she set to work. Numair couldn't tell what she was doing, but he could feel the disturbance in her mind. As well as using her magic in some way he couldn't determine, she was also speaking aloud. She was murmuring too quietly for him to hear the words, but the tone was coaxing. For what seemed like hours she worked, until sweat prickled all over her skin and she trembled with exhaustion.

Just as Numair was about to withdraw from her mind and insist that they return to the palace, Daine's sharp eyes picked up movement. She let out a shaky sigh of relief and allowed her body to relax. Through her eyes, Numair could clearly see the creature moving towards them. A tiny female, no bigger than a few inches, her body a mixture of rich greens and browns, the colour of trees in summer. She came to a halt several feet in front of them and tilted her head, caution and curiosity mingling on her face.

_Tree sprite, _Daine said, her voice tired even in his mind.

_Dryad, _he whispered back, awed. He felt exactly like he had done the night he had seen the undine: like he had fallen into the middle of one of the legends his mother used to tell him when he was a child. _To see one sprite is a blessing, _he said. _To see two is a miracle. How did you do this?_

_She took an awful lot of persuading, _Daine replied. _ I was at it for most of the day and she almost changed her mind when I arrived with you. But she decided to come out in the end._

The dryad inched closer, hesitating every few steps and casting them wary glances. It took her the better part of ten minutes to finally come within touching distance. Once she was close enough Daine lifted her hand, slowly enough not to startle her away. After a pause the dryad stretched out her own hand. Impossibly tiny fingers touched Daine's skin, and Numair felt it as if it was his own. The sprite felt like bark, strong despite how delicate she looked.

_I'm _touching _a dryad, _Numair said. _In all the books I have ever read, no one has ever spoken of touching one. _

He could feel Daine's smile. _I know I'm far too late, but happy Midwinter, Numair._


	4. Dreams

Staring into the shadows, Numair frowned. It had been over an hour since Daine had disappeared into the forest, and he had hoped that she would be back by now. But, searching the darkness pooled around the trees for the slightest movement, he could see no sign of her. Sighing, he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and shuffled towards the fire.

The wolf cub had stumbled across them shortly after they had set up camp for the night. He was injured, but his wounds were minor and he trembled from fear rather than pain. Communicating silently with Daine, he told her that the cubs in his pack had been attacked while the adults were away hunting. Their assailant – a creature he'd never encountered before – had killed their guardian easily, and he had only managed to survive by running and hiding in the tangled bushes and vines of the forest.

It was quick work for Daine to heal his shallow cuts and to pass along enough of her own energy to enable him to make the trip back to his pack. After stuffing him with some of the dried meat from their supplies, she had taken her wolf form and trotted off into the forest, moving slowly enough for the young cub to keep pace with her. Numair had wanted her to wait at least until first light; wooded areas hold dangers at the best of times, and the chances of being attacked or injured increase during war, but Daine had been adamant that the cub needed to be returned to his pack as soon as possible. They would be frantic, she argued, at the loss of a young one, especially if others had been killed during the attack.

So she had disappeared into the night, leaving Numair to worry about her. He'd briefly considered taking hawk form and flying after her, but quickly thought better of the idea. Although he was certain he could shield their camp from the sight of enemies, human or Immortal, Daine would never forgive him for leaving their horses alone so close to an area where animals had been attacked only a few hours previously. His one consolation was that if she should be hurt, she was close enough that Cloud would be able to sense her distress and alert him to it.

For the hundredth time in as many days, Numair cursed the circumstances that had led them here. They had been on the move since the barrier fell in Midwinter, and Midsummer was now rapidly approaching. In those long, tiring months that separated two of the most important days of the year they had worked almost constantly, resting only when no emergencies, of which there were many, required their attention.

What had brought them out of the palace on this particular occasion was a cry for assistance from the residents of a hamlet, who had caught glimpses of spidrens in the surrounding woodland. By the time Numair and Daine reached them it was too late: the small cottages were deserted, and the splash of rust coloured blood in the grass told them that there had been a struggle. Tracking and killing the spidrens had been easy. Burying what the monsters had left of the people who had called for help was difficult. Daine had baulked at the idea of spending the night in one of the empty cottages, surrounded by meagre possessions that would moulder or gather dust, and so they had set up camp near the edge of the forest.

If ever Numair was grateful for the war for the time it allowed him to spend with his student, he only had to look at Daine to make the selfish thought vanish. The shadows in her eyes, caused by the murder of her mother and grandfather and then her village turning on her, began to recede when she first came to Tortall and found people who loved her. These days it wasn't rare for him to glimpse the sorrow that had been so obvious in her during the first days of their friendship. Since the fighting began she had seen too much, far too much, and it was beginning to tell on her. He would willingly give up his time with her, even watch young men of her own age court her, if it meant she would be free of the grief she carried.

The shadows stirred and Numair, jolted out of his thoughts, sat up straight. A wolf slunk out of the darkness, favouring its right forepaw as it walked, a fresh cut running from beneath its eye to its muzzle. "Daine!" Numair cried, scrambling to his feet and groping for the clothes she had shed when she took on her wolf shape. The Daine-wolf shook her head once, telling him not to fret, and then limped through the open flap of her tent. Thrusting the bundle of clothes in after her, he hurried away, leaving her to dress in privacy.

Crossing quickly to his own tent, he pulled open his pack and fumbled inside for his canteen of water and the balm that would make short work of healing the cut on her cheek. That done, he returned to his place by the fire and waited for Daine to finish. She emerged from the tent a few moments later, pulling a woollen tunic on over her shirt. "What happened?" Numair asked as she settled herself next to him.

She winced as he slid his fingers beneath her chin and turned her wounded cheek to the light. "I got him back to his pack safely."

Shaking out his handkerchief, he soaked it with the water. "While I'm relieved to hear that our young friend is safe and well," he said, dabbing delicately at the cut. "I'm more concerned with how you sustained injury."

"The pack was jumpy. They attacked before I had a chance to explain anything." Seeing Numair's frown she added, "They lost all the cubs but the one that found us – they were right to be defensive." She pulled away from Numair's gentle grasp, hiding the sudden tears that swam in her eyes. On top of the day's sorrow, he knew the loss of so many young ones and the pain of a pack must be difficult to bear.

He allowed Daine a moment before turning her face back towards him and applying the balm. "There's nothing you could have done to stop it," he said softly. "You did all you could to see the surviving cub back to safety. Even if it did mean ignoring your teacher and running off into danger."

She bit her lip and dropped her eyes, suddenly anxious. "I'm sorry, I needed-"

"I know," he interrupted. "You couldn't ignore a creature when it needed help that you could give. I understand that, admire it, even if it does give me grey hairs from time to time."

Smiling, she raised her eyes to meet his and Numair's breath caught in his throat. The look in her eyes conveyed such affection, such love, that he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He had finished applying the balm and now his hand lay still, cupping her cheek. Realising that it wasn't an appropriate way for a teacher to touch his student, he tried to pull away. Before he could move she covered it with her own hand, and he found that it rendered him incapable of drawing back for all that his large hand dwarfed her small one.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For understanding. And I'm sorry for turning your hair grey, although it still looks handsome enough to me." Grinning impishly, she released his hand to toy with the few strands of raven black hair that had worked themselves free of his horsetail. Aware that he should stop her, unable to do so, he shivered as her fingers brushed the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving goose pimples in their wake.

Rising to her knees, she leaned close to him and wrapped both arms around his neck. She located the leather thong that held back his unruly locks, and her nimble fingers had it undone within seconds. Free of its restraint, his hair tumbled down past his shoulders and Daine smiled as she wove her fingers through it. "See?" She whispered, her lips now scant inches apart from his. "Very handsome."

He wasn't sure who moved, but the distance between them melted and he caught her lips in a searing kiss. Forgetting all his perfectly logical reasons why this couldn't happen, forgetting the restrictions he had imposed on himself concerning Daine since Midwinter, he dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her closer. She obliged eagerly, shifting onto his lap without breaking their kiss. He flicked his tongue over her lips, tasting her for the first time, and she opened her mouth wider, allowing him greater access.

When they were both breathless they pulled back briefly, reluctantly. As soon as they caught their breath they moved back together, Daine murmuring his name as their lips touched. The heat and the tremor of excitement in her voice sent a delicious shiver running down his spine as he continued his exploration of this new territory.

"Numair."

Distracted as he was, it took Numair a few moments to realise that something was wrong. Although Daine's mouth was locked with his own, her tongue teasing his, she was calling his name.

"Numair! _Numair!_"

A firm hand grasped his shoulder, pulling him back, pulling him away from Daine. "No!" He cried, trying to hold onto her. It was no use. His hands slipped from her shoulders and down her arms, until he was holding only her fingers. He knew that soon he would lose that precarious hold, too.

"_Numair!" _

He sat up quickly, his head colliding hard with something solid. As he fell back down, the world swam before his eyes. After a few seconds everything began to right itself: there was the campfire, now only embers, there were the horses, dozing lightly, and there was Daine, rubbing her forehead and looking disgruntled.

"A fine welcome that was," she grumbled.

Numair stared at her in confusion, unable to understand the sudden change in their positions or why the cut on her cheek was missing. Then came realisation. He remembered his eyelids growing heavy as he waited for Daine to return. The exertions of the day along with the warm campfire must have lulled him to sleep, and he had fallen into a dream. Having experienced them frequently, he was used to dreams where Daine was his, but this one had seemed so _real_. If he concentrated, he could still feel Daine's skin beneath his fingers, her lips caressing his. He could feel his cheeks growing warm, and was suddenly very glad of the low light coming from the dying fire.

"Numair?" Daine said quietly, concern in her voice. She knelt at his side and reached to touch him. "Are you alright?" 

"Fine," he said briskly, jerking away from her hand. He got to his feet and stumbled away, trying to ignore the confusion and hurt that flickered over her face. "Must have fallen asleep."

"Are you sure-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted sharply. When the worry in her eyes didn't diminish he softened his tone and said, "Really I am." Seating himself on the opposite side of the fire, maintaining as much distance between them as possible, he said, "So, tell me about the wolves."


	5. Midsummer Visions

Numair hurried towards the stables, trying very hard not to think about the latest strange creatures he and Daine were being sent to fight. He had never heard of the like before: beings that killed everything they touched, _skinned _things with magic, and couldn't be harmed by any physical weapon. Briefly, he had considered asking Daine to stay behind. It was likely that her arrows wouldn't affect these skinners, and she couldn't attack them in animal form or she would be killed. But he knew she would never consent to being left behind; she would want to remove any of the People who lay in the path of the skinners, and she would want to know that he was safe – how often had she told him that he gets into far too much trouble without her looking after him?

For the moment he pushed thoughts of the new enemy out of his mind. He had no idea what manner of creature awaited them at Greenhall, but he was sure it would be a difficult fight. Until he actually saw the skinners he had no way of knowing what sort of magic could kill them, so it was no use fretting about it now.

When Numair entered the stables it was to find that Spots had already been saddled. Although he doubted that the hostler, an aged man who looked as if he should have retired a decade ago, had equipped the gelding with his tack, he could see no sign of Daine. He opened his mouth to ask the man if he had seen her, but then shut it wordlessly. One of the drawbacks of being a black robe mage was that people who didn't know Numair personally tended to fear him. Since joining Jonathon's court he had heard all kinds of ridiculous rumours about how he misused his power; gossips had him using his Gift to draw otherwise virtuous noblewomen into bed and to turn unruly servants into shrubbery. The inhabitants of the royal palace had gradually grown used to his presence, but this wasn't the palace. This was Port Legann, where people who didn't know him were at best wary and at worst terrified. Startling an aged hostler could earn him anything from a scowl to a shriek.

"If you're looking for your girl," the hostler growled suddenly, "I'd ask Lysa."

Numair, who had been silently debating how best to get the hostler's attention without alarming him, almost shrieked himself. He'd had no idea that the old man was aware of his presence. "Who is Lysa?" He inquired politely.

"My 'prentice," the old man replied gruffly. Now he scowled; it wasn't directed at Numair, but at a girl seated on a rickety stool in the corner, various pieces of tack that needed repairing piled around her feet. "They had their heads together the whole time the young lady was in here. You ask me, Lysa was trying to muddle your girl in some mischief or other."

Lysa stood, a slow grin spreading over her face. She was no more than eleven, and the cropped black hair that framed her tiny face and dancing green eyes _did _suggest mischief. "I wasn't getting her into no mischief, you old grump." She grumbled to the hostler. Moving over to Spots, she gave him a friendly pat on the neck. "This handsome fella tells me the stork-man gets her into enough trouble to be going on with."

Her grin widened at Numair's deep blush, but the hostler frowned. "Who the blazes is the stork-man?" He muttered. Fortunately, he didn't wait for an answer. Turning his back on both Numair and Lysa, he climbed the ladder to the hay loft, grumbling under his breath.

"Did Spots tell you that or did Daine?" Numair asked quietly. Looking through his Gift, he could see copper fire twined around the girl's hands. It was a tiny amount, and probably only allowed a connection to horses, but the Wild Magic was unmistakeably there. He noted to himself that once the state of the country became less volatile, it might be wise to take Lysa to Corus to meet Stefan; the chief hostler could teach the girl a lot about her special brand of magic. If not Stefan, then perhaps Daine would be ready to train her. The thought made Numair's stomach lurch unpleasantly. Daine, taking a student? Would that mean he would no longer be able to teach her?

"Spots told me, sir, but he didn't mean no harm by it." She gave the gelding a final pat and then looked up at Numair curiously, head cocked to one side. "Are you that mage, sir? Master Sal – Salam-"

"Salmalin. But, please, call me Numair."

Lysa frowned. "That's what she said – Daine, I mean," she added when she saw his puzzled expression. "I tried to call her Lady but she weren't having none of it."

Numair grinned widely. "That sounds like my Daine. If she has made a friend of you then you are my friend too, and there's no need to call a friend 'master.'"

Shaking her head, she muttered under her breath about 'folks not acting proper', and Numair found himself having to choke back a laugh. In part, she reminded him of Daine when they had first met on the road to Corus. They shared the same affinity for horses as well as a bemusement at strange nobles. The most striking difference was that whereas Lysa exuded confidence, Daine had been nervous during her first weeks in Tortall, half expecting her new friends to discard her every time she made the slightest mistake.

"Are you looking for her?" Lysa asked.

"Yes, do you happen to know where she is?" 

"Mayhap," she said slyly, looking up at him through lowered eyelashes. "But she has womanly duties to see to. You can't go dragging her off just yet."

Numair cocked an eyebrow. "Womanly duties?"

Lysa nodded. "Don't go interfering with them. Not far behind here there's a pond with a little bench next to it. I sent her there."

"To fulfil these… Womanly duties?" Numair asked, receiving another nod. "Well I must go to her. Don't worry," he added hurriedly, seeing her open her mouth to protest, "I won't disturb her duties, whatever they may be."

He nodded and smiled at Lysa and then left the stable before she could stop him. Hurrying behind the building, he searched for the pond. With no trees or any other kind of cover, it wasn't long before he found it. Just as Lysa had said, Daine was seated on a roughly carved wooden bench. She was bent forwards, elbows resting on her knees and head perched on her hands, staring into the pond.

Seating himself next to her, he too leaned forwards and stared into the muddy water. He saw only himself and Daine reflected back at him, their faces distorted slightly in the cloudy water. "If sitting next to a dirty pond until you're stiff is a womanly duty, I confess to being glad that I'm a man." He murmured in her ear.

Daine sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You've met Lysa, then?"

"That I have," he said solemnly. "What kind of womanly duty is this?"

She looked at him strangely. "All those clever thoughts in your head, and you don't have a notion of why I might be looking into a pond on Midsummer's Day?"

Numair began to shake his head, but as he did he remembered something from an old wives' tale. Supposedly, young girls and women could look into a pond on Midsummer's Day and see the face of their true love staring up at them. "Searching for your true love, Magelet?" He asked, his tongue feeling like a lump of lead in his mouth. He didn't like the idea of Daine meeting her true love, even if it was only an image in a muddy pond. Again she looked at him strangely, and he realised he hadn't been able to keep a hint of bitterness out of his voice. "You must have been terribly disappointed when all you saw was my tiresome old face." He teased gently, hoping to make her forget the hurt she heard when he spoke.

It seemed to work. She smiled, her first real smile in weeks. She grinned when she was around others but it was false, an act to convince the people who sent her out to fight that they weren't pushing her too hard. Numair could always see through them to the grief and weariness beneath; almost four years of her companionship had taught him how to read her face well. It wasn't until now that he realised how much he had missed her true smile, the one that made her eyes sparkle and his heart thump just a little bit harder.

"I was doing no such thing. You've known me long enough to know I'm not so foolish. When Lysa found out I hadn't tried to discover the face of my true love, she dragged me out here and told me not to come back until I'd found my future husband." She sighed and shook her head slightly. Her eyes flicked to the pond and rested on it briefly before returning to Numair. "And as for your face being tiresome I've never heard such nonsense," she chided. "If half of the court ladies swooning over you isn't proof enough that you're handsome, I don't know what is."

Numair felt a blush working its way up his cheeks, and he silently cursed himself. It was true that the court ladies thought him handsome and weren't bashful about telling him so, but it never made his stomach flutter like Daine voicing her approval when he dealt with an enemy successfully or mounted Spots (almost) correctly. When they had met again in Carthak a few months previously Varice Kingsford had been _very _complimentary, but it had earned her no more than a small smile. Now Daine calling him handsome had coloured his face a deep shade of red.

Hoping that Daine thought the blush was caused by her knowledge of his entanglements with various ladies of the court rather than the effect of her compliment, he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "They swoon over the gold in my purse, not my face. There are several ladies whose mothers would marry them off to potatoes as long as they had a large estate and a lavish home in which to raise heirs."

Daine raised an eyebrow and bit her bottom lip, suppressing a giggle. "Are you fishing for compliments, sir mage?" She teased.

He sighed dramatically and flopped against the back of the bench. "Mages are sensitive souls. We need constant reassurance or we will wither."

She regarded him in silence for a moment before the laugh she had been holding back burst from her lips. "That might work on those ladies who are after your purse, but you're forgetting that _I _know you, Numair Salmalin, and I know that you're a player at heart. Too much reassurance and your head won't fit through the door."

He grinned at her, enjoying watching her laugh and enjoying even more the knowledge that he was the cause of her happiness. "Yes, Magelet," he said softly, "you do know me." He reached out to push one of her many unruly curls from her cheek, but he remembered himself in time and drew back. Despite his worry, she didn't seem to notice anything. She rose to her feet, dusting off her breeches. He began to follow suit, but she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently back down onto the bench.

"Rest for a moment." She ordered. "Goddess knows you probably won't get another chance for hours. Cloud needs saddling – I'll get you when I'm done."

Numair frowned. "Cloud? I thought you were shifting and flying out of Port Legann?"

"I am. But we don't know what we'll be fighting today. I might be too drained to fly back, and it's not fair on Spots to expect him to carry us both back." She explained.

He nodded his understanding and watched her walk back to the stables. Before she turned, he caught a glimpse of her face. The laughter was gone and she was sober once more. Just as he had given her laughter earlier, he had taken it away by reminding her of the task that lay ahead of them today. Sighing, he turned his gaze back to the pond and stared at it moodily.

"You know," he remarked after a few moments of silence, raising his eyes to the sky, "it's not terribly fair that only women receive visions today. I think I need one." A vision of true love would certainly help to clear his mind. Not _his _true love, he already knew all too well who he loved and he couldn't have her, but Daine's. Maybe if he knew she would love someone worthy, someone who would treat her with all the respect she deserved, he could find it in himself to be happy for her.

He blinked, and a decidedly odd feeling settled over him. Something was different, _wrong, _but he couldn't figure out what. Long seconds stretched out as he tried to locate the source of his sudden discomfort. When he finally found it, he couldn't understand how he hadn't seen it straight away. The pond. Before it had been muddy and reflected distorted images. Now it was completely clear. It didn't even ripple in the breeze, but was perfectly still. It was more like looking into a mirror than water. Only it wasn't himself he saw; it was Daine.

_Did the Goddess hear my prayer? _He wondered silently. The Daine he saw in the pond was surrounded by horses and hay, in the stables at Corus. She wasn't alone; Perin Porter stood behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his face buried in the crook of her neck. _Perin? _Numair fumed. _Perin is her true love? _He couldn't be happy about this. He couldn't even try. He refused to believe that the best Daine could do when it came to true love was an idiot of a boy who only wanted to bed her.

The image in the pond, which had been completely still, suddenly sprang to life. "I told you already, Perin." Daine said, firmly removing his arms from around her waist and pushing him away. "No."

"But why?" Perin whined, turning her around to face him.

"I don't want to. I'm not ready, you know that." She whirled away from him and plucked a brush from a nearby stool. Moving into Cloud's stall, she began to gently groom her.

Perin was silent for a moment, seeming to think. Then a smirk twisted his mouth. It quickly disappeared as he rearranged his expression to one of sympathy. "It's him, isn't it?" He said quietly, strolling over to Daine so that he was only inches away from her.

"Who?" She asked absently, mind clearly still on the task of brushing Cloud down.

"Master Numair."

The brush slowed and then stopped altogether. Daine turned to look at him, and Numair recognised the dangerous glint in her eye immediately. If he hadn't been aware of the kind of implications Perin was about to spout, if he didn't want to set fire to his breeches for trying to coerce Daine, he would feel sorry for the boy. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"It's alright," Perin said soothingly, clearly missing the tremble of anger in her voice. "You were so young when you first came here, I can't blame you for what you did. But you can't deny it. Everyone in the palace knows you share a bed with him. Oh Daine," he said sympathetically, possibly mistaking the anger that made her cheeks redden for embarrassment. "I said I don't blame you, didn't I? He probably forced you into his bed, or else made you feel like you had no choice." He brought his hand up and gently caressed her cheek. "But he won't touch you if he knows you have another lover. I can help."

Numair couldn't listen to the poison the boy was spouting to persuade Daine into his bed for a moment longer. He didn't care if he had to take hawk form and fly to Corus through a cloud of stormwings, he was going to give this boy a long overdue lesson in manners. And it would _hurt. _Just as he was about to leave the pond, Daine balled her hand into a fist and punched Perin with all the might in her well trained archer's arm. The impact knocked him off his feet and sent him flying into the wall of Cloud's stall.

"You can drag my name through the mud all you want," she hissed, "Mithros knows I'm used to it. But keep your filthy mouth off Numair. The man has more honour than you can even begin to imagine. He would never harm a woman, least of all force one into his bed, and he definitely wouldn't try to persuade me to drop my breeches in a stable."

Perin struggled back onto his feet, wiping away the blood that trickled from his split lip. "You're choosing him over me?" He cried.

Daine let out a strangled laugh. "Is your skull that thick? He's my teacher, my friend, not my lover. But if there was a choice, I wouldn't even have to think about it. He's worth a hundred of you."

Perin lashed out and struck her cheek with the back of his hand. Cloud whickered loudly and lunged forwards, plunging her teeth into Perin's arm. He shrieked and tried unsuccessfully to slap the pony away. Daine allowed her to cling to the clerk a few moments longer before saying, "Enough, Cloud, let go." The pony reluctantly loosened her grip and stepped back, looking very much like she wished she had taken a chunk of his flesh with her.

"Seeing as I hit you, I'll let that go." She told Perin, who cradled his wounded arm to his chest. "But if you _ever _touch me again, you'll find out what I can do with fangs and claws."

Perin stared at her silently, eyes narrowed in fury. Numair could clearly see the debate raging in his mind: risk injury to strike Daine again or leave with wounded pride but all of his limbs intact. He chose the latter. "Whore!" He spat, turning on his heels and stalking out of the stables.

Shaking her head wearily, she sighed. "It always comes down to that," she muttered to Cloud. "It doesn't matter about a woman's courage or skills. Just who she goes to bed with and how often."

She lapsed into silence, presumably listening to the reply that Numair couldn't hear from Cloud. Eventually she shook her head. "No, I shouldn't have said that about choosing stork-man over him. Now he'll definitely think that he's bedded me, and I'd bet two coppers that by nightfall he'll have told half the palace. But I couldn't say nothing – he practically accused Numair of raping me! And I was right, he is worth a hundred of him." Breaking off, she rummaged in her pocket to produce an apple. "Here," she thrust the fruit towards the pony, who accepted it eagerly. "You better eat that. I can't imagine he tasted good."

The image of Daine faded, and the pond became murky again. Numair discovered that he had slipped from the bench and was kneeling over the water, his nose almost touching the surface. Hastily returning to his seat, he contemplated what he had just seen. Had what he had just witnessed in the pond actually happened? Or was it just a product of his exhausted, overworked mind? He couldn't believe that it had happened, surely Daine would have told him if –

A memory jumped to the fore of his mind. He saw a ramshackle room of an inn. He saw Daine's troubled expression when he asked her about Perin and, slowly, he began to recall her words. "_We were visiting the stables when he got __rambunctious__ and it fair vexed Cloud. She gave him a bite that'll make him keep his manners in mind until at least the summer solstice."_

Various emotions warred within Numair, the most prominent being rage at Perin and pride at Daine's defence of him, but before he had a chance to sort through his scattered feelings, a warm hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

"It's time to go," Daine said gently. "Cloud's ready and – Gods, Numair!" She cried as he turned his face toward her. "Are you alright? You're as pale as a sheet."

"I'm fine, Magelet, just tired." He hesitated for only the briefest of moments. What he was about to ask would certainly raise awkward questions from Daine, but he had to know if what he had seen in the pond was real. "Why did you stop speaking to Perin?"

Daine jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected question. "Why do you want to know that now? We haven't spoken for weeks."

"I know, it's just…" He trailed off, sighing. "Please, I give you my word that I will explain everything once we return from Greenhall, but I need to know why you stopped speaking to Perin now."

She began to protest, but stopped abruptly. She detested secrets, and Numair was clearly keeping one, but the distress in her friend's eyes and the pleading note in his voice halted her arguments. "He wanted something I wasn't willing to give, and he got fair nasty about it."

Numair stood abruptly, knocking her off balance and making her stumble. Grabbing her arm, he steadied her and then cupped her soft cheek in one large hand. "Did he hurt you?" He asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer he would get.

"A little, but I think I hurt him worse. It was more mean words than anything else, and me'n Cloud set him straight."

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he held back a gasp. What she said fit perfectly with what he had seen, which meant that it really had happened. For the moment he pushed aside the disgusting insinuations Perin had made about his relationship with Daine in an attempt to bed her. He would be dealt with later. All Numair could think about was what Daine had said about him. She had called him honourable, had said that not only was he worth a hundred of Perin, but if she had to choose between the two of them she would take Numair as a lover. It wasn't much of a compliment, considering how foul Perin had been, but it still made his heart hammer hard against his chest.

Not only that, but her fierce defence of him was better than the most wonderful compliment she ever could have paid him. When Perin had given voice to the most awful rumours, it wasn't for herself that Daine was concerned, but Numair. She had defended his reputation and honour without a thought for her own. Suddenly her full, rosy lips looked incredibly tempting. He felt himself begin to lean down, unwilling and unable to resist the urge to capture those sensitive lips with his own.

_He's my teacher, my friend, not my lover._

Numair straightened quickly, Daine's words ringing in his ears. She had defended him against someone who spread hurtful rumours. That didn't mean she wanted him as anything other than a teacher, a friend. She would defend Alanna or Onua with equal fervour, he was sure. Having said that he would never try to convince her to "drop her breeches", she would be even more horrified if he forced his kisses on her now.

"Numair," she murmured, "are you-"

"Be careful on your flight to Greenhall," he said, pulling his hand away from her cheek as if burned. He strode away, leaving her staring after him, wide blue-grey eyes filled with worry.


	6. Numair and Weiryn are scolded

_Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It was a wonderful response. As this chapter is so short, I'll be posting another one shortly which will be set during Numair's trip into Temptation Lake. _

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The day was a perfect one. The burning sun hanging high in a clear blue sky was tempered by a warm, soft breeze that caressed the skin. Leaves caught up by the zephyr shivered briefly, whispering almost silently to their neighbours, before falling still again. Those who cared enough to listen would find that the words were like a low rumble just beneath the reach of their hearing, impossible to discern, but would catch a glimpse of the ancient power that resided within the leaves that quivered and trembled as if frail. 

Such a day had a way with people's minds, a trick of making things of great importance fade into nothingness. Duties, anxieties, pressures; all melted away. Numair Salmalin, black robe and most powerful mage in the court of King Jonathan of Tortall, indeed, in the entire Eastern Lands, could almost forget that for several exhausting months he had been key in a bloody war that involved both humans and creatures that came straight from dreams – or, in some cases, nightmares. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was home, a place he hadn't laid eyes on since Midwinter. He could almost imagine that there were books to be pored over in the daylight hours, and night time would bring the simple pleasures of dining with Daine, introducing her to the nocturnal animals that lived around his tower.

But if Numair did allow his eyes to slide shut, even for a moment, the distinctive stench of stormwing would be a harsh reminder of the battles that still raged in Tortall, the battles that his friends fought for their lives in and he too should be a part of. The gaze of Weiryn would weigh heavily on him, and he could _feel_ the god taking his measure, judging whether Numair was fit to guard and guide his daughter. That same gaze would remind him that Daine herself was currently wandering through an unfamiliar realm, alone and unarmed, and his stomach would lurch with sudden anxiety.

"What happened to _you_?" Rikash Moonsword asked, genuine surprise in his voice. For a confused moment Numair thought the question was directed at him, but the low rumble that emitted from Weiryn's chest told him that something was amiss. His eyes sprang open in time to see Daine striding down the path that led to the cottage. The red dress she had donned that morning was now a sodden, muddy mess gripped in one of her hands. She was soaked, water dripping steadily from her hair, but amidst the dampness on her face he thought he could discern tears. A flash of silver light, and Broad Foot appeared at her side.

"Broad Foot will explain," she said, otherwise ignoring the strange assortment of beings in the garden and hurrying indoors. "I need to clean up."

"I apologise, Weiryn." Broad Foot said sadly. "I never would have taken her if I had known."

"What happened?" The god growled, intense concern barely masked as anger evident in his voice.

"She was swimming when a tauros appeared and tried to attack."

Numair hadn't realised he had risen to his feet until he fell back down to the porch with a thump. A violent shiver shook him as Broad Foot's words sank in. A tauros? A _tauros! _If the creature had harmed her in any way, he would hunt it through both the divine and mortal realms before going after the owner of the twisted mind who had created it. A small voice in his head spoke up, reminding him that Daine had had no visible injuries more severe than a scratch. If the ferocity of a tauros attack didn't kill its victim, they were left bruised and bloody. Daine would have had terrible injuries if the tauros had succeeded and, as far as Numair could tell, she was only shaken and upset. Still, he would be unable to rest until he heard from her own lips that she was unharmed.

Before he had the chance to seek her out, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him away from the cottage, away from the garden. "With me, mage." Weiryn growled. "Now." The god only released him once he was sure they could be neither seen nor heard.

"Do you realise your folly now?" Weiryn demanded, rounding on Numair. "Even within my own boundaries, my daughter is not safe! How can you possibly guarantee her safety in a war torn country when she is not even safe in the land of a god?"

"I assure you that I have tried to convince her to remain in your realm, Lord Weiryn." Numair replied, equal heat in his voice. "But she refused. She will not remain here while our friends are in trouble."

Weiryn rolled his eyes. "You did not try hard enough!" He spat.

"I did the best-"

"Do not lie!" Weiryn shouted. Wincing, he realised the volume of his voice and made a conscious effort to lower it. "Remember that we observe your affairs. I heard the threat you made to my daughter in Dunlath."

Numair drew himself up to his full height, which was, apart from his antlers, taller than Weiryn. "Lord Weiryn, I understand your concern for Daine, but I would _never _threaten her or-"

"You threatened to bend her to your will, to force her to leave Dunlath with you if she would not do so willingly. If you cared more for her well being than having her at your side, you would make such a threat again now."

Numair was about to reply that he never intended to carry out the threat, and that in any case it hadn't worked; Daine had stubbornly refused to leave Dunlath and the Long Lake pack, even though it put her life in danger. But before he could do so much as open his mouth, an incredulous snort halted him. Weiryn started, and turned to find the source of the noise. Sarra leaned casually against a tree, her arms crossed over her chest. She had managed to sneak up on both of them unheard.

She shook her head at them. "Have you two not learned that Daine will do as she pleases?"

"It is extremely dangerous for-" Weiryn began. Sarra held up a hand, silencing him.

"I'm well aware of the dangers, as is she. But I won't stop her doing what she feels is right, and neither will you. I thought you would have known better by now than to try to make Daine's decisions for her." She said, eyes flicking from Weiryn and coming to rest on Numair.

"With all respect, I have never tried to make Daine's decisions for her." Numair said quietly.

Sarra laughed again, a light chuckle this time. "And what about that pleasant young man in Carthak? The one who you saw fit to threaten because he took such a shine to my Daine." She suppressed a wave of laughter as Numair's cheeks burned and he dropped his eyes to the floor. "I told you, sir mage, we watch."

"This is all very well and good," Weiryn interrupted, impatient to get back to the matter at hand. "But we cannot allow our daughter to walk back into danger so-"

"Do you think I don't worry about her?" Sarra snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously as she rounded on Weiryn. "Do you think that I haven't missed her every day since those bandits took me away from her? That I don't want to get to know my own daughter again? Of course I want her to stay! I've wanted to see her since the day we were separated, and now she's here she wants to run off to some awful war!" She paused for a moment, drawing a deep, trembling breath. When she spoke again her voice was sad, but calm. "I won't stop her leaving. I won't keep her here when the people and animals she loves are hurting, because it will kill her."

Now both Numair and Weiryn stared at the floor, shame faced. Weiryn opened his mouth, perhaps to voice one final argument, but a deadly look from Sarra silenced him. Once she knew she had their obedience on the matter of Daine and her decisions, she smiled. "Alright, you two, I need help with the lunch. And no arguing at the table or you'll _really _vex me."


	7. The Real Temptation

Numair groaned as he woke, and pulled his makeshift blanket tighter around himself. Cracking an eye, he looked through the dim dawn light to the stones that encircled their camp. The glow that they had thrown off the previous night had vanished, as had the warmth. Unsure of what lay ahead of them and unwilling to use too much of his Gift, he had used only a short term spell on the rocks, ensuring them enough warmth to send them into sleep but no more. Now, with the lingering chill and dull ache in his limbs, he was beginning to regret his decision.

Glancing over at Daine, he discovered that she was still asleep and, although the cloak she was using as a blanket was rumpled and pushed aside, apparently undisturbed by the cold. For a few happy moments he toyed with the idea of sending more of his Gift to heat the rocks and then, comfortable once more, settling down for an extra hour of sleep. But they would have to make an early start if they wanted to put in a good few hours of walking before the sun reached its zenith, forcing them to stop or risk heat stroke. There were jobs to be done before they could leave: the breakfast needed cooking, the latrine had to be filled in, all signs that they had camped there had to be obliterated. With a little luck, if he started now all of those tedious tasks would be done by the time Daine woke. He knew that she would protest at him doing all the work, but as long as he pointed out that it would allow them to make an early start, meaning a quicker return to Tortall, she wouldn't scold too much.

It took him a little under an hour to complete every essential task. He put off making breakfast, unwilling to disturb Daine until absolutely necessary. She seemed to get so little rest lately, he hated to deprive her of it when she managed to snatch some. Deciding to wake her once he had washed if she hadn't risen already, he strolled to the edge of the lake.

Hands about to plunge into the water, he paused. He had been thinking about the lake for most of the night, about the extraordinary magic it wove and how it worked. Able to guess at the complexity of magic that would be able to see each person's deepest desires, he was driven mad with curiosity about it. Was it created by a God? A lake being? Or was it somehow naturally occurring?

Telling himself that he had plenty of time, trying to ignore the knowledge that he was lying, he reached out with a strand of his Gift to probe the water. Before it even touched the surface, he was being sucked in. He desperately tried to call the strand of Gift back, to sever the connection, but nothing worked. The magic in the lake had caught hold of him and it wasn't going to let go. Closing his eyes, he concentrated with all his being on pulling away. He felt as if he was falling down a long, dark tube, his hands scrabbling desperately at the sides but finding no purchase.

When he next opened his eyes he was in the study of his private rooms at the palace. The grey light filtering in through the window and the dying fire in the grate were familiar sights. He was also used to the vague ache in his joints; a little discomfort was to be expected when cramming such a large frame into a small armchair for hours on end. It had happened countless times before and no doubt it would happen countless times again; he had stayed up into the night studying some exciting piece of arcane knowledge and had dozed off in the small hours. Looking down, he saw a faded length of parchment covered in cramped, slanted writing clutched in his hand, just as he had expected to.

Raising the parchment to his eyes, he frowned. This was something he didn't recognise. There were slight indentations in the delicate, aged material from where he had gripped it in his sleep. That had never happened before. Even while unconscious, he somehow managed to maintain a proper respect for important books and scrolls. He had fallen asleep over dozens of fragile items in the past, and never before had one been torn, marked or in any other way harmed.

Perhaps he had been in the grip of some awful nightmare. That made a kind of sense. Vague, blurry images of monsters danced on the edge of his awareness, but trying to form a proper memory of them was like grabbing at smoke. If he drew too close they disappeared, sliding past his fingertips even as he grasped at them. Whatever the cause for his violation of the parchment, it disturbed him greatly and he vowed to make a greater effort to set aside anything of value as soon as he felt his eyes begin to grow heavy, no matter how engaging the reading material might be.

He had just begun to put the parchment right, straightening out the tiny creases made by his fingernails, when something happened that almost made him rip it in two. A well known and well loved voice called out to him, making him jump right out of his seat in surprise.

"Dearest," Daine said again, a small frown creasing her forehead. "Is everything alright?"

Numair could only nod dumbly. Daine leaned in the doorway that led to his bedroom, and it couldn't be clearer that she had only just woken. Her mussed curls tumbled around her shoulders, framing a face that was slightly flushed from having just risen from a warm cocoon of sheets and blankets. When he sought her eyes he found that they held a misty look, as if she were still caught up in a recent dream. She was awash in one of his shirts, and it so dwarfed her that it fell almost to her knees. It was unbuttoned but wrapped tightly around her body, staving off the chill in the air that threatened to steal the rosy hue from her skin.

For a moment his mind reeled. A voice in his head _screamed _that this was wrong, unreal. It wasn't happening; it was some sort of dream or fantasy created by him in his loneliness. Daine couldn't be his. He was too old, too experienced, too –

"Are you coming to bed?" Daine asked quietly. "There's still an hour before we need to rise, and I don't want to spend it alone." She extended her hand to him, and for a moment the shirt hung open. Before she gathered it around her again with her free hand, he caught a glimpse of creamy skin and soft flesh, a hint of what could be his if only he would take her hand.

Numair was faced with a decision. Listen to the voice that told him this was wrong, keep grabbing at the monsters that taunted him, or go with Daine. Lose himself in her warmth and softness as he had craved to do for so long, and rejoice that he had miraculously attained what he had been convinced he could never have.

The voice gave one final plea for reason, and then Numair silenced it as abruptly and cleanly as if he had slammed a door. At any other time he would have listened to that logical voice, but lately he had found himself ignoring it more and more when it came to Daine. Now it was suggesting that something was wrongabout her. Daine could never be wrong. Not in the way that it was suggesting. Not in a way that meant she would want to harm him. Hadn't she proven her loyalty over and over again? Saved his life more times than he cared to count? This time the logical voice was mistaken. Some God had decided to favour him and now Daine loved him, and he refused to believe that that was _wrong_.

Reaching out, Numair placed his hand in hers and smiled to feel her slender fingers curl around his. In a daze, he followed her obediently as she walked backwards, leading him towards his – _their_ – bedroom. The journey seemed to take much longer than usual; they walked, but the distance between where they stood and the door didn't grow any shorter. At one point the place where his hand met hers burned – not hot, but cold. It was like she had dunked her fingers into icy water. If he had been listening to the logical voice, he would have heard it screaming once again. As it was, he only worried about Daine, sharply admonishing himself for making her leave the warm bed in search of him. When his breath became short it was no surprise. Didn't she always have this effect on him? A smile or a hug from her made his breath catch in his throat, so it was no wonder that he should struggle for breath now.

A sharp pain bloomed in his ribs, making him gasp. His hand nearly fell from Daine's grasp, but she gripped him tighter. When he looked up at her, he could see anger burning in her eyes, and her skin seemed to flicker and change. It had lost its pleasant pink shade, and now it was surpassing white to turn blue. The voice of reason came screeching back into Numair's head, hollering, _Not Daine!, _with all its might. The pain in his side seared with a fierce intensity, stealing his breath and bringing him to his knees. A cry rang out, and compared to this the ache in his ribs was nothing. It filled the room, surrounding him completely and bearing down on him until he thought the pressure might cause him to burst. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed for it to end.

The next time he opened his eyes it was to discover that he was in deep, icy water. Without thinking, he opened his mouth to scream and instantly inhaled a flood of water. An indistinct shape moved beneath him and slid itself underneath his arm, pushing him upwards. The shape grew arms that surrounded him and legs that kicked out in powerful strokes, propelling them towards the surface, to air. Daine kept one arm around him even after they broke the surface, towing him towards land as he coughed and spluttered, trying to rid himself of the last of the water he had inhaled.

Several minutes later, after both of them had made sure their bodies held no trace of the water they discovered was tinged with Chaos, Daine emerged from behind a bush, dressed in a set of clean, dry clothes. Her mouth was set in a familiar, firm line and the gaze she turned on him was as stern as the one he had seen Sarra fix on Weiryn while she was reprimanding him. "Are you _sure _you didn't drink from the lake?" She asked. "That creature looked like a blue, naked female with a big chest to me, until Broad Foot changed my vision. She looked like _just _the kind of female you might want to be tempted by, Master Salmalin."

Numair blushed to the roots of his hair, feeling like a fiend as he swore to her that he hadn't requested temptation. It wasn't that he was lying; he hadn't requested temptation, only tested the lake with his Gift out of curiosity. But he could still see the other Daine, the _wrong _Daine, clearly in his mind. Even as he fervently thanked Mithros that she hadn't seen what he had, a new, horrible thought occurred to him.

_I told you, sir mage, we watch. _Could Daine's parents see events in the Divine realm as well as the mortal? He could only witness happenings in the mortal realm, but he was no god. If they could see events in the Divine realm, could they see the illusions created by Temptation Lake? He was sure that if they could check on Daine's progress, they would look in on her upon waking to make sure she had survived the night. Sending up a new prayer to Mithros, he hoped that Weiryn and Sarra had decided to sleep in that morning.


	8. After The Fall

AN: Half of this takes place in the chapter "Falling" of Realms of the Gods. I didn't want to use too much dialogue from the book, so I haven't included the scene where Numair tends Daine's wounds and they talk about his feelings for her. The second half of this chapter takes place after that scene, but before they meet the stormwings.

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For one long, awful moment, the world span before Numair's eyes and he was terrified that he would faint and tumble down into the same canyon that had claimed Daine. The dizziness cleared and the next thing to claim him was grief. It was enormous and overwhelming, swamping his senses and rendering him incapable of any rational thought. If he allowed it to continue, it would consume him completely. He wouldn't move from this spot. He wouldn't cross the Sea of Sand, wouldn't enter the Dragonlands, and wouldn't return to Tortall. He would stay right next to the collapsed ledge, suffocating under the weight of his crushing pain. 

Only one thought managed to penetrate through his haze of grief. _What if she survived the fall? _It was both a wonderful and terrible thought. Wonderful because it meant she might yet live; terrible because she might be horribly injured and alone. As suddenly as it had come, Numair's pain left him. He forced down on it with all his will, pushing it to a deeper part of himself where it couldn't interfere with what he needed to do. To detach himself from emotion wasn't a new experience for Numair, although the coldness in his eyes still scared his friends when he did it. When Tristan Staghorn had threatened Daine's life, he had cut himself off from all his misgivings and guilt to use the devastating word of power that had saved her. Similarly, he had severed himself from all sense of duty to both the monarchs and the country he loved dearly to hunt for Daine when Ozorne had kidnapped her. Now he clamped down on his grief, until all he felt was a terrible calmness. He knew it couldn't last, that he would soon weep either tears of relief or pain, but for the moment it was essential he keep a clear head.

He yanked the golden bracelet off his wrist and flipped open the catch, not even pausing for a second to take his customary glimpse of the portrait that smiled up at him. Curling his fingers around the smoky brown curl, he poured his Gift into it, his heart pounding with the effort of the complex spell that was required to locate a missing person. It didn't take him long to discover Daine's exact location, and now his heart beat fast for a different reason. She was in a cave. Not crushed on the rocks, not drowned in the river. Even if she was hurt, if she was in a cave she _must _have dragged herself there. She had to be alive. Numair knew he could find the cave on foot, but he refused to stay away from her for a moment longer. Grabbing his staff, the gift from Lord Weiryn, he poured almost his entire Gift into the focus and allowed it to drag him to Daine's cave.

Trees, sky and land blurred as he was pulled through space. The next time the world righted itself, he was standing at the mouth of a cave. What he saw there nearly made him fall to his knees. Three spidrens, two males and a female. At their feet lay an unmoving, web covered body. The realisation was crushing. Daine hadn't survived the fall. The force of the impact had killed her, or else she had drowned. These vile creatures had found her broken body and dragged her back to the cave, and now they sought to make a meal of her. The emotion that Numair had pushed back so violently only a few moments ago came surging back. What devoured him was not grief or pain, but rage. A horrible, burning rage that a young woman so full of promise, love and compassion had been snatched away from the world, from him. Rage at the spidrens who would devour the remains of his beautiful Daine, denying her the proper burial that she deserved.

He didn't make a decision to attack. His Gift leaped out of him, just as Daine's ability to heal had been pulled from her by animals in need before she had learned to control her wild magic. It launched itself at the nearest target, one of the male spidrens, and destroyed him utterly. Now drained of his Gift completely, Numair attacked the remaining male with his staff while Leaf leaped onto the female, plastering itself over her face. He beat the spidren mercilessly, not stopping until after his limbs had stopped writhing. Dimly, he was aware that Leaf had managed to despatch the female. His rage deserted him, to be replaced once again by that awful grief. So consumed by agony, he didn't hear the voice he loved above all others calling his name.

"Please...Are you alright?" There was exhaustion in Daine's voice, as well as obvious fear.

Slowly, he turned to face her. For the first time he understood perfectly how she had felt in Carthak when he had appeared after she believed him to be dead. If he touched her and discovered that she was no more than a figment of his imagination, a hallucination conjured by his mind, he would break. He couldn't get her back only to lose her for a second time.

"You-you're-alive." He stammered. "I thought..."

She stumbled over to him and said grimly, "I hurt too much to be dead."

Unable to stop himself, Numair dropped his staff and crossed the distance left between them, sweeping her up into his arms. He held her tight against his chest, running his hands over her body both to check for injuries and to reassure himself that she was real, while she tangled her fingers in his hair. She pulled away, and as their eyes met all of his reasons for restraining himself around her, for keeping his love for her silent, crumbled. The space between them vanished, and he found his lips on hers. He kissed her with a fierce intensity, no longer able to hold back the feelings he had been trying to conceal for months. When he felt her begin to tremble he quickly pulled back, terrified that he had hurt or scared her. But she whispered her disapproval of the absence of his lips and pulled him back. He kissed her briefly before pulling back for a second, wanting to be certain that she was sure she wanted this. Finding no doubt or fear on her face, he returned, kissing her softly and sweetly.

When he finally broke the kiss he wasn't sure whether to shout his thanks to the gods or sob from the strain of everything that had happened in such a short time. What resulted was a strangled laugh. Unwilling to let Daine go, he picked her up in his arms and seated them both on a large rock. Cradling her close to him he whispered, "Goddess bless. Magelet, I thought I'd lost you."

He held her tighter as she began to weep silently into his shirt, rapidly blinking back tears of his own. Once her sobs subsided and she was still once more, he remarked that they needed to rest and eat, and gently suggested that once she felt better she should try to locate the path they had been travelling on. When she didn't answer, he looked down and realised that she had fallen asleep against him.

* * *

It had been an hour since Daine's fall and encounter with the spidrens, but only a few minutes since the end of a conversation in which Numair's love for her had been revealed. That she wasn't disgusted by his love, that she returned his kisses with equal fervour and even now sat with her head resting against his chest and his arm around her shoulder, made Numair happier than he had been in a long time. But he had learned something disturbing. Daine had believed, no matter how briefly, that he was interested in her only for what she called 'canoodling'. He had thought that the past few years in Tortall had served to increase her confidence, taught her that she was so much more than what the people in Snowsdale said she was. Now it appeared that he was wrong. He was convinced that at least part of the blame for this could be attributed to Perin, who only wanted to bed her and didn't care much about how he did it. It was another one of those things that Numair would have to 'talk' to the boy about once he returned to Tortall and the war died down. 

It seemed that Perin was on Daine's mind, too. "Why did you want to know why I stopped talking to Perin?" She asked suddenly. "With the skinners and getting dragged here, it flew out of my head to ask you."

Numair stiffened before remembering that, from how she was cradled against him, she could feel his tension. He forced himself to relax. Daine might have forgotten the incident behind the stables when he had been so frantic to know why she had broken off relations with the clerk, but he hadn't. Until this moment he'd believed that she had either forgotten the matter or had no intention of asking him about it, for which he'd been deeply grateful. "There was no particular reason, sweet. I was merely curious."

Daine pulled back slightly, just enough so that she could look up into his face. In the moment when their eyes met, he realised she knew that he was lying. He shouldn't have been surprised; she had seen through his lie so easily when he had told her that finding her was a matter of simple magic. If he was this transparent to her, he wondered how she hadn't noticed his love for her the moment he himself had realised it. "Numair," she said sternly. "I may have been dragged between realms and dropped from a cliff, but my memory is just fine. You were as pale as a sheet, and you looked like Mithros himself had just appeared to you. I know there was a reason."

"You'll think me mad," he mumbled.

"Who's to say I don't already?" She teased gently, grinning.

He glared at her playfully. "I complained to the Goddess that it was unfair only women receive visions at Midsummer, and she sent me one of my own…" Briefly, he explained about the vision he had seen in the pond, and how he had confirmed that it had actually taken place by questioning her about Perin. When he looked up, he was startled to see that the tears that had stopped flowing an hour ago had returned to her eyes. "Whatever is the matter?" He asked, sliding a hand beneath her chin and tilting her face towards his.

"He said such horrible things about you." She said, biting her bottom lip gently.

Leaning forwards, he kissed the place where her lip had been caught between her teeth, wanting to soothe the pain that Sarra's ointments couldn't fix. "But you did a wonderful job of defending me."

"I didn't want you to hear any of it."

"You should have told me, Magelet." He said, pulling away and looking at her sternly.

"Would _you _have told _me _if you'd heard someone spreading horrible rumours about me?" She demanded.

Numair said nothing. The truth was, over the years he had heard many awful rumours about Daine. Most of them involved her bedding every man in sight, including him in many cases. He always corrected the gossip, and made sure they knew they would face his displeasure if he heard them dishonouring Daine's name again, but never once had he told her about it. It seemed more important to protect her from the hurtful words, the rumours that could do so much damage to her reputation. That was especially the case when she had first arrived in Tortall, when she readily believed the terrible things people said about her.

He wondered how long she had been trying to protect him in the same way.

His lips met hers in a slow, sweet kiss. When he pulled away he said, "Thank you. For trying to look after me like that."

She rewarded him with a smile and another kiss. After they had both run out of breath, Daine rested her head against his shoulder. "I think I'm jealous," she said.

"Oh? What of?"

"You. You received a vision on Midsummer and I didn't."

Numair chuckled lightly. "I'm not sure whether _I _should be the jealous one, if you wish for visions of other men."

Looking down shyly, she said, "Who said anything about other men? Perhaps I did have a sort of vision. The only face I saw in the pond, apart from mine, was yours."

Numair grinned widely, a flash of white teeth revealed behind his sensitive lips. "Perhaps the Goddess has a sense of humour."


	9. Aftermath

AN: I've skipped over a lot of Realms of the Gods because I didn't want to constantly repeat text from the book. This takes place after the RotG epilogue. More still to come. Thanks for the feedback!

* * *

Numair woke to the sensation of light, fluttering kisses brushing over his skin. They graced his face, and not one inch of his flesh was neglected. Particular attention was paid to the bridge of his long nose, as well as his full, sensitive mouth, which in recent times had frequently been compressed in a tight line of tension. Once the butterfly light kisses had traced his features, assuring each and every inch of his exposed skin that it was well loved, they moved to his neck. The soft lips grazed the stubble that had grown over the last few days, tickling him. By far the sweetest and most tender kiss was pressed against the place where his pulse thumped, now considerably faster and harder than it had done when he first woke. 

After lying in complete stillness and silence for several glorious minutes, treasuring each kiss that was given to him so freely, he could no longer resist the urge to offer his own. Raising his hands, his fingers found untamed, silky curls. He arrested the movement of the kisser and gently directed her back to his face, silently urging her to find his lips with hers again. She complied eagerly, and soon he tasted the lips he had loved for days and dreamed of for months. On her lips he tasted faintly porridge sweetened with honey, as well as the specific taste of his love. Although he had received this kiss many times over the past few days, it was every bit as intense as the first time. In his weakened state, he found he soon needed to pull back for air, although his body demanded that he stay in the embrace.

Pulling away, he opened his eyes, still heavy from the sleep he had only recently woken from. Soft brown eyes sought and found blue-grey ones. The smoky brown curls his fingers had been tangled in tumbled freely around his love's face, tickling his cheeks and veiling the two of them from the rest of the world. Full, inviting lips, still swollen slightly from their heated kiss, curved into a smile that made his ragged breath come harder still.

"You're awake," Daine said softly.

"Of course I am," he replied, voice slightly cracked from lack of use. "Attention like that could wake the dead."

A light blush spread across her cheeks as she laughed. "Just don't tell Alanna that I woke you. She'd have my guts for garters."

"Is Alanna here?"

Daine nodded. "Everyone's here, taking a few days to rest and plan the clean up. We have a week before we have to be on the move again, and you've already slept two days away."

"Two days!" He said, shocked. "I've been asleep for two days?" It felt like his eyes had been closed for barely a minute before Daine roused him.

"Two days," she affirmed. "The fight with Inar Hadensra exhausted you; you fell asleep on Cloud. Which reminds me," she suppressed a small giggle, "you'll need to give her a few apples the next time you see her, else you'll get a nasty bite. She had to do some quick manoeuvring to keep you from falling off her back, and she wasn't best pleased."

Numair laughed, but the cheerful sound quickly died in his throat as he thought about Hadensra. The battle had almost killed him; as he had lain on the hard ground, exhausted and drifting in and out of consciousness, for a moment he thought he _had _been killed. If it wasn't for the guilt he knew would drive him mad if he didn't use his Gift to defend the realm, he would make good on what he had said to Daine and return to juggling for a living.

_Daine. _He still didn't know what had happened to her at Legann, or how she came to know that Uusoae had been acting through Ozorne. "What happened to you?" He asked quietly.

She grimaced, and reluctantly pulled herself out of his arms to stand next to the bed. "If you want to hear that story, we'll need some food. And you need a bath."

Sighing, Numair pushed himself up on his elbows. Daine slipped her arm around his waist as he slid from the bed to stand on weak, unstable legs. Looking down at where he had spent the past two days, he discovered that Daine had been telling the truth when she said that he needed a bath. Grime and even a few smears of blood had rubbed from his body onto the white linen sheets.

It was at this time that he made another discovery. The healer, presumably Alanna, who had tended his wounds had put him to bed in only a loincloth. He was suddenly fervently grateful that he hadn't risen a couple of minutes earlier, when the effects of Daine's ministrations would have been painfully obvious. Muttering something about obtaining bath water and fresh clothes, the blushing young woman hurried from the room.

Over the next few minutes she made several trips to and from the room, returning with a large tin tub, pitchers of hot and cold water, a fresh set of clothes for Numair, towels, soap and shampoo. She set up the tub behind the changing screen and mixed the hot and cold water until she achieved the right temperature, despite Numair's protests that he could do this himself. Even though Daine couldn't see him, he blushed furiously as he lowered himself into the water, extremely aware that she was only a few feet away. He contemplated asking her to leave for a few minutes, considering the impropriety of the situation, but quickly decided against it. They had been separated for days, not knowing if they would ever see each other again, and as a result he was reluctant to be parted from her.

"I'm going to look for some food!" She called after a while. "The kitchens are in a state at the moment, and the only people who can get a proper meal are Jon and Thayet, but I'm sure I can find us something."

He heard the door click shut behind her as she left, and felt himself relax slightly. With her gone, perhaps he had a chance of getting clean without turning a furious shade of red for the duration of the process. Grabbing the soap, he quickly cleansed himself of dirt, blood, and any other signs of his battle with Hadensra. The shampoo returned his hair to its normal sleek state. By the time he got out of the tub, the water had turned a strange shade of grey; he was tempted to use his Gift to dispose of it straight away, but judged it unwise to use magic so soon after a draining.

When Daine returned, he had just finished dressing. She had managed to gather them a small feast of mismatched but filling food. There were various pieces of fruit, smoked cheese, cold slices of meat, bread rolls and a stick of butter, all balanced on a heavily laden tray. In her other hand she juggled a pitcher of water and two glasses. Numair rushed forward to relieve her of some of her burden, ignoring the scream in his muscles as they protested at the sudden movement. Quickly rolling out one of his unused towels as a makeshift tablecloth, he set the food down on the bed, the only surface large enough to accommodate the miniature banquet. It was then that he noticed that at some point Daine had found time to track down new bed linen and replace the dirty sheets with clean ones. Thanking her, he sat down on the bed, careful not to disturb any of the food, while she settled herself cross legged opposite him.

As they ate, she told him about her part in Ozorne's death. She told him of the slaying of the giant serpent, and how it had cost Rikash his life. Her voice choked as she recalled that she hadn't realised he was her friend until he died, until she screamed her grief as she watched his lifeless form fall to the ground. The battle had turned before her eyes; Tortall and her allies suddenly had the upper hand. It was during this moment of renewed hope that she had witnessed Ozorne fleeing to the north, and Jon had given her permission to pursue him. He had sent enemies after her during their chase, and - Numair shuddered as she told him this - if it hadn't been for the darkings and a flock of gulls, she would have surely perished. When she related the death of Leaf and Jelly, the tears that had been shining in her eyes finally spilled over; he pushed aside the food to gather her to him, letting her sob into his shoulder.

After the tears had abated, she finished her tale. In the end, the final battle between Daine and Ozorne had taken place without any magic, both being too drained to call on any. Without friends or weapons, she had faced the grim prospect of death on Ozorne's wickedly sharp steel wings. Her only hope, the only chance of survival she had, was the badger's claw she had worn around her neck since she was thirteen. She wielded it as effectively as a blade, slashing Ozorne's throat and stomach, and ending the former Emperor Mage's life. But it hadn't stopped there; she had smashed a stone that had hung around his neck, and from it Uusoae had risen. The goddess of Chaos had touched her, and it had been a pain she had never known before, an agony she could never being to describe. She trembled as she spoke of this, and Numair held her tighter, wishing he could erase the memory of that horrific encounter.

If Numair had needed anymore proof that she'd had a longer and more utterly exhausting day than he'd had, what she said next would have convinced him. Not only had she witnessed Father Universe and Mother Flame pass judgement on Uusoae, but she had actually argued with the gods, pleading for the stormwings' right to stay in the Mortal Realm. Although he didn't exactly relish the idea of stormwings becoming a permanent fixture, Numair couldn't help but feel pride in Daine that she had come so far in shaking off the deep prejudices that had influenced her when they first met.

Just when he thought that nothing more she could say would shock him, she told him something that almost made him fall off the bed. The gods had demanded that she make a choice: return to the Mortal Realm and live a mortal life, or remain in the Divine Realms as a lesser goddess.

"A goddess," Numair whispered, awed. "They offered to make you a _goddess_? How did you decide?"

"I thought it would be difficult, but in the end there wasn't really a decision. I couldn't always watch my friends, two-legger and People, and not be with them. I couldn't give up you," she said, fixing him with a steady gaze. "Maybe if I didn't know you, I would have stayed with ma and da, but I couldn't ever willingly part from you. At first I thought I had to stay, seeing as I gave ma my word that I would visit them, but she told me that I had to come back to Tortall, and that I had a strange but good man waiting for me."

For possibly the first time in his life, Numair discovered that he was speechless. She had given up the chance to live with the father she had never known and the mother who had been stolen from her too soon. She had given up immortality as a goddess, a chance to live amongst other gods in the Divine Realms. She had given all of that up, and had instead chosen a mortal life, where she was in danger of early death, disease, battle - and she had done it for him. Although he desperately wanted to marry her (both as a sign of their love and to stop gossips spreading rumours of a sordid relationship), now it wouldn't matter if she never agreed to become his wife. He would never need more proof that her love for him was genuine, and not a passing infatuation. He wanted to tell her how much this meant to him, how much he loved and adored her and always would. What came out instead was, "Sarra thinks I'm strange?"

Daine chuckled and said, "_Everyone _thinks you're strange. That's what happens when you go around turning people into-."

Before she could once again relate the Tristan Staghorn incident, he covered her mouth with his. He poured everything he felt but couldn't vocalise into that one kiss; he felt her tremble with the intensity of it, and realised that he was shaking too. Soon the forgotten food was being kicked to the floor. Numair found himself being pushed gently onto his back, and his tired arms found the strength to encircle Daine and pull her on top of him. Limbs entangled and clothes were disarrayed as they strived vainly to get closer to each other than was possible.

So caught up in each other, they didn't hear the voices on the other side of the door.

"No, youngling," a female voice scolded. "Numair needs his rest. You can see Daine later."

"Perhaps we should let her enter," said a smooth male voice. "I, for one, would like to know how my most powerful mage fares."

Then came a low whistle. The lock on the door popped, and it swung open.

"Sorry, Daine," Alanna said apologetically as she strode inside. "Kitten wanted to come in. Is Numair awake..." She trailed off as her eyes fell on the scene before her. Daine lay flush against Numair; one of his hands caressed the exposed flesh of her lower back, and the other was tangled in her curls. At the sound of Alanna's voice they broke their kiss and stared aghast at the intruders, looking very much like two children caught in a wrongdoing. As Alanna and Jon stared at them, wide eyed and open mouthed, Numair groaned. Both the King and his Champion loved Daine, and considered her protection and wellbeing their responsibility. He wondered who would be the one to kill him, and whether he would die by sword or Gift.


	10. Aftermath II

Sorry that this is so short! I didn't intend to write this, but as people requested it I thought I would. I hope the next chapter makes up for the length.

* * *

The moment stretched out, and the silence grew so heavy that Numair felt an insane urge to scream, just to end it. Eventually it was Kitten, her scales now a pale grey, who broke the tension. Having been denied admittance to the bedchamber where Daine had kept a constant vigil at Numair's side, she had expected an affectionate welcome from her ma to make up for the two day separation. Instead, Daine ignored her completely, and only stared at the King and his Champion. Whistling angrily, Kitten crossed the distance to the bed and leapt onto the mattress, placing her forepaws firmly on Daine's back. Daine sat up quickly and gathered the disgruntled dragonet into her arms, attempting to soothe her with a voice that trembled slightly. 

Whatever spell had kept Alanna and Jon silent, Kitten's irate chirping broke it. "Well," Jon said softly, surveying his two mages, "I can't say that this is _entirely _unexpected, but there are far more subtle ways of announcing a relationship."

"We didn't plan on anyone walking in on us," Numair grumbled quietly, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"I would like to speak to Numair," Alanna said, eyes boring into her lanky friend. "Alone."

"Alanna," Daine said hesitantly, flinching slightly as the knight's intense gaze turned on her, but refusing to look away. "Both me and Numair are involved in this. If you're angry then it shouldn't just be at him."

"I'm not angry; I just have concerns which need to be discussed with him." Seeing the girl hesitate, Alanna sighed and added, "I promise that I'm not going to hurt him."

"It's alright, Magelet," Numair said, just loud enough for her to hear. He laid a reassuring hand on her arm and squeezed gently. "There are things that I need to discuss with Alanna, too."

"I meant what I said, this involves both of us. If you're going to talk about what's happened since my fall in the Divine Realms, I should be here too," she muttered back to him.

"You're perfectly right," he conceded. "When the time comes to tell the rest of our friends about our relationship, we will do it together. But right now, I think Alanna has worries that only I can assuage." He had a very good idea of what Alanna's concerns were, and he would prefer it if Daine wasn't there when she voiced them.

She stared at him, a small frown creasing her brow, clearly torn between not wanting to refuse Numair's request and an unwillingness to leave him to face the brunt of Alanna's supposedly non-existent anger alone. The soft plea she read in his eyes, along with Kitten's constant chirping for attention, decided her. Setting Kit down on the floor, Daine rose to her feet and carefully picked her way through the various pieces of fruit and cold meat that were scattered around the bed. As she passed Alanna, she nodded to her sword and said, "Keep that sheathed?"

Alanna grinned, although her gaze remained serious. "I think I can manage that."

Jon, who had remained silent since his initial comment, spoke up again. "Come," he said gently. "From the look of the floor, you haven't had much of a lunch." Daine followed her monarch silently from the room, pausing to smile at Numair from the door. Kitten trotted happily behind her, her scales finally returning to their normal shade of blue now that her ma's attention was secured for a while.

Once they were gone, Alanna closed the door. "Numair," she said quietly, turning to face him, "I have to make sure of something. Please don't take offence." Numair only moved to sit at the edge of the bed, finding a space on the floor that was clear of food on which to set his feet. He regarded her silently, waiting for her to ask whatever she needed to. Finally, she said, "Is Daine another Prudence, or Clara, or Isabelle?"

He had been expecting the question, but that didn't prevent the blush that rose in his cheeks. Midwinter had marked a turning point in his life. Although his reputation for pursuing and bedding ladies of the Court was well deserved, after the revelation that came with the fall of the barrier he found that he was no longer capable of flings. Several times he had kissed Court ladies, only to find that his thoughts always wandered to Daine, and in his mind it was her lips that he caressed. Disgusted with himself and his desire for his student, he had always pulled away, leaving the woman puzzled and hurt. Prudence, Clara and Isabelle, however, were women he had met _before _Midwinter. All three affairs had been brief and tumultuous and, in Clara's case, had ended in angry recriminations and tears.

"No," he said firmly, meeting her eye. "I'm not interested in bedding Daine-" At this, Alanna's eyebrows shot up, and Numair's blush darkened, making his cheeks burn. "Well, I'm not _just _interested in that. I've loved Daine, as you love her, for a long time. Since our first meeting, I have admired her for so many reasons: her strength, her longing to expand her magic, her ability to feel compassion despite the cruelty she has encountered so often. But I only realised that I was in love with her at Midwinter. I never intended to tell her; I never wanted to put our friendship at such great risk, and I didn't want to influence her into believing that she was in love with me when she wasn't. But in the Divine Realms-" he broke off, grinning sheepishly. "Well, perhaps that story is for another time. I don't think Daine would forgive me if I told it in her absence."

Alanna smiled again, and this time it was reflected in her eyes. "I'm sorry that I had to ask, but-"

Numair held up a hand, cutting her off. "I am grateful that you asked." In response to her sceptical look he added, "You asked because you care a great deal about Daine, and for that I am deeply grateful."

Alanna nodded, accepting this as the truth. "Now, we must find the young woman in question before she wanders too far away. I'm longing to hear about what happened in the Divine Realms."


	11. Approval

I still have quite a few ideas for future oneshots, but if anyone wants to see Numair and Daine in a specific situation, let me know. This is set several weeks after Realms of the Gods, but before the start of the Protector of the Small quartet.

* * *

"…Just returned from a tour of the Yamani Isles. We wouldn't have _dreamed _of sending her there, but her father heard a rumour that there may soon be negotiations for a Yamani bride for Prince Roald. If this comes to pass, she will fit in _beautifully _at Court. She will be a credit to her husband if, of course, she has married by that time. Although I doubt that there will be difficulty in finding a husband, my Lilith being the beauty that she is. By the way, Master Numair, if you just asked my Lilith for a dance tonight, I'm certain she would be _thrilled _to oblige." 

All around the room, people laughed and talked, taking delicate bites of the elaborate desserts that had been set on the tables only a few minutes previously. The banquet progressed beautifully, oblivious to Numair Salmalin's torment. By some horrible stroke of misfortune, he had been seated next to the matriarch of one of the lesser noble families. All of her kin would benefit enormously if only a marriage between her eldest daughter and the famed black robe mage could be arranged, and so for the last hour she had talked incessantly of her daughter's achievements, her beauty, and her elegance.

He had to concede that Lilith, who sat two tables away, was indeed beautiful. Thick, treacle coloured hair was set in a complicated bun at the back of her head, held in place by glittering pins. No fault could be found with her features, which had been accentuated with kohl and rouge by an expert hand, although her lips were set in a constant pout, as if she were forever on the verge of crying. A silk burgundy dress clung to her curves, drawing the eye. But even as Numair looked at her, in his mind he could see only smoky brown curls, blue-grey eyes, and lips that smiled rather than trembled.

Across the table, Raoul of Goldenlake grinned wickedly at him. The hulking knight, who had recently earned himself the title "Giant-killer", was notorious for shirking social gatherings of any kind. This banquet was no exception. He had argued that the war was barely over, that he should hunt down the remnants of the enemy that still hid in the country rather than attend a fancy victory celebration in Corus. Eventually, the combined efforts of Jon and Thayet had worn him down, and he had agreed to attend the banquet. He had spent most of the night dreading the moment when a mother would sidle up to him, and begin to 'hint' that her daughter would be perfectly suited to him; but tonight it seemed that Numair was the target.

"Of course, _you _are still a bachelor aren't you, Master Numair? I expect that now that _dreadful _war is over, you shall be looking for a wife."

Raoul couldn't prevent the laugh that escaped his lips, and quickly covered it with a hacking cough. "Where's Daine tonight? I haven't seen her." He said, perhaps taking pity on the mage.

"She's in the stables," Numair replied, relieved at the chance to escape this horrible conversation. "One of the mares went into labour, and it was more than Onua could handle on her own."

"Lucky for some," the knight muttered.

"Daine," the matriarch said sharply, perhaps fearing a rival for her daughter. "Who is Daine?"

"Surely you know our Wildmage," Raoul said.

Relief passed over the woman's face before her nose crinkled in disgust. "Oh, _her. _In my opinion, she shouldn't have been invited in the first place. It's hardly appropriate for her kind to attend a grand gathering such as this."

"_Her kind_?" Numair asked, his voice dangerous. Raoul opened his mouth to warn the woman that it was best to stay silent, but then changed his mind. Perhaps this would teach her not to pounce on every eligible bachelor, and he would have one less matchmaking mother to worry about.

"You _must_ have seen her, Master Numair. She's forever covered in filth, and even animal mess! Besides which, she's a common-born ba-" She broke off, finding the word too distasteful for her tongue. "Well," she resumed, "let's just say that her mother was free with who she invited into her bed, and, if the rumours are to be believed, the girl is no better."

Out of the corner of his eye, Numair saw Raoul wince. This woman was either a stranger to Court or oblivious, or she would have at least known that Daine was Numair's student, even if she hadn't heard about the change in their relationship.

"Madam," Raoul said quickly, "The young lady you speak of is a personal friend of Master Numair."

She looked aghast. "Oh, Master Numair, you must forgive me if I have given you offence!"

"You do not owe apologies to me, but to Daine." Numair said, sounding much calmer than he felt.

"But-"

"If you wish to make amends, please do so by remaining silent as I correct some of your poorly formed opinions of my friend." Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself before continuing. He had heard Daine insulted countless times by both nobles and servants over the years, but he never got used to it, and it never made him any less angry. "Firstly, it is not for _you _to decide who does and does not attend these gatherings; that privilege belongs only to the King and Queen. Concerning this banquet, if it hadn't been for Daine's actions during the war, there would be far less people still alive to attend it, if we had cause to celebrate at all."

Raoul nodded approvingly. As someone who had fought in the battles, he knew just how much Daine's actions and alliances had swayed the war in Tortall's favour. It was _Daine _who had brought the animal gods into the fight, _Daine _who had mapped their opponent's positions on the back of a dragon, and _Daine _who had faced Ozorne with nothing more than a badger's claw and emerged victorious.

Numair looked briefly at Raoul, silently thanking him both for his support and his acknowledgement of Daine's work. "Secondly," he continued, "there is no doubt concerning Daine's parentage. Her father is Weiryn, northern god of the hunt."

"No!" The woman cried, a smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. "I would have thought that an intelligent man like you wouldn't have been taken in by such a lie, Master Numair."

"I have met him," he said quietly, "and heard him acknowledge her as his daughter." Taking advantage of the stunned silence that followed, he ploughed on. "Finally, Daine is my student, my friend, and my love."

The woman stuttered, choked by outrage and disappointment. Raoul raised his eyebrows at Numair, who shrugged in response. Announcing his love for Daine like that was sure to have the gossips' tongues wagging, but it hardly seemed to matter. Their relationship seemed to be the worst kept secret in the whole of Tortall. If it wasn't bad enough that Alanna and Jon had walked in on them, they later discovered that Onua had deduced their secret by the way Numair had held Daine on the journey back to Legann, and several people had witnessed their passionate farewell embrace before Daine had departed for Legann.

Deciding that if he was in for a copper then he was in for a gold noble, Numair turned back to the woman and said, "Consequently, I will _not_ be asking your daughter for a dance tonight."

Raoul promptly turned red from the effort of suppressing his laughter. Muttering an excuse, he exited the hall as quickly as courtesy allowed. Sighing, Numair awaited the torrent of outrage that was about to pour from the woman. What he heard instead was, "Filthy beast! Are there no rat catchers in this hall?" The creature that had disgusted her was not a rat, but a mouse. The woman aimed a kick at it, but Numair cried out for her to stop, trying to prevent her from hurting the animal. He lunged to grab it, and pull it out of harms way.

The mouse deftly avoided both foot and hand; instead it launched itself onto Numair's breeches, and began to climb his leg. By the time it reached his lap it was no longer a mouse, but a soot-black kitten with white paws. "Hello dear one," Numair murmured down to the kitten, beaming. She bumped her cheek affectionately against the hand he offered her.

Turning back to the outraged, astonished and insulted matchmaking mother, Numair said, "May I introduce Daine? Please excuse us; she requires privacy to resume her normal form." Scooping the Daine-kitten up in the palm of his hand, where she was quite dwarfed, Numair rose and strode quickly from the table, leaving the woman to splutter behind him. Two sets of eyes, one pair violet and the other blue, watched their exit.

Numair headed straight to his rooms – or, rather, _their _rooms. After leaving Legann, they had been granted a week of glorious relaxation at his tower. They had argued that they shouldn't be exempt from the vast clean up operation, but Jon had firmly told them that they had done more than enough for the time being, and that everyone could cope perfectly well without them for a week. After seven days of living together, they had decided that they didn't want to resume living separately upon their return to the palace. As he had the most spacious quarters, they agreed that Daine should move into Numair's room. They made the move quickly and without fuss; any vicious gossip was quickly stopped by a threatening glare or word from their friends. Living with Daine required a certain amount of adjustment; every now and then he would wake with a cold, wet nose pressed into the small of his back, and his resolve not to take the step of becoming lovers until Daine felt comfortable enough to suggest it was certainly harder to keep now that they shared a bed. But he would never revert to living without her. Knowing that she was always there, knowing that her welcoming arms and soft lips awaited him at the beginning and end of every day, more than made up for the petty inconveniences.

Arriving in front of their door, he paused, his key halfway to the lock. Something was different, although he couldn't determine what. Daine meowed quietly in his hand, asking why they had stopped. Before he could answer her, his mind finally registered what had changed. When he had left for the banquet several hours ago, the brass nameplate on his door had read: _Numair Salmalin. _New words had appeared on the plaque. Below his name, in neat letters, was engraved: _Veralidaine Sarrasri. _

Lifting his hand, Numair brought Daine to an eye level with the plaque. After reading it, she turned in his hand, cocking her head and letting out a meow that he could only assume was startled. "I'm not sure who did this, Magelet," he said quietly.

"Do you like it?" A voice at his shoulder asked.

Numair started, and turned to find Alanna. She was dressed beautifully for the banquet, although he could see that she had refused to don a dress. A red silk shirt edged with gold fell over black breeches, and her hair had been put up simply but elegantly. A wide grin was spread across her face. "Did you do this?" Numair asked, startled.

Alanna nodded. "After I found out about you two, I didn't really get the chance to say how I feel about your relationship. Between mopping up the enemy immortals and cleaning up the mess they made, there wasn't much time to talk. I hope that this," she gestured at the nameplate, "says it for me."

Numair was genuinely touched by the gesture. It showed that not only did she believe what he had told her about his feelings for Daine, but she didn't object to their relationship, even their living together. It meant a lot that one of his and Daine's closest Tortallan friends approved, and went to such lengths to demonstrate it. "Thank you, Alanna," he said solemnly.

Now beaming, Alanna looked towards Daine. "I suppose I'll have to wait to hear what you think."

"Not necessarily," Numair said, chuckling. He beckoned for Alanna to come closer, and raised the hand that held the Daine-kitten to her face. As she heard Daine's loud purrs, Alanna began to laugh.


	12. Charms

Thanks in general to everyone who has reviewed so far, particularly regular reviewers. I really do appreciate the support. **oirishgoddess**: I don't plan on stopping any time soon. I have ideas for about another fifteen chapters (maybe more), and I'll keep writing them as long as people keep reading them. **lucid.dreams**: I'll certainly be writing a chapter based on the scene where Daine arrives at the refugee camp, but it won't be for quite a few chapters as I'm going in chronological order. I'll also be writing a chapter based on your other suggestion, and that will be much quicker in coming. **Starling Rising**: I hope this is fluffy enough for you.

* * *

Numair wove through the crowds that lined the streets of Corus. At Court, his reputation and powerful build meant that people tended to clear a path for him. Here in the centre of the bustling city, on one of the biggest market days in the calendar, no one seemed to care who they bumped into. Elbows dug into his ribs as people tried to sweep him out of the way; his toes were crushed by careless children during a game of chase; once or twice he even felt his pockets being dipped into by a foolhardy thief. Each time the pickpocket had had their hand scorched by his Gift and had hurried away, swearing and sucking their fingers. 

He was beginning to wish that he had stayed in the palace, and ventured into Corus another day. But soon he would be running very short on time. The new pages would be arriving in a few days and the old ones would be returning, meaning that he would have to spend most of his days devoted to planning and giving lessons. Besides which, Daine would be busy at the stables for the entire day; for much of the summer they had been worked off their feet, and so she hadn't been able to accompany Onua to the horse market in Cria. Although it wasn't her fault, she felt guilty about leaving her friend to do the work and so was determined that the stables would be in perfect order by the time the new horses arrived. This was a shopping excursion he would much prefer to make alone, and today was a perfect opportunity.

A small part of him felt guilty for deceiving Daine, especially as the reason for the trip had so much to do with her. However, concealing the truth was necessary, at least for the time being. If she knew what he was doing today she would feel pressured, which was exactly what Numair was trying to avoid. Although they had shared rooms and a bed for several weeks now, they still hadn't become lovers. Lately, though, when their kisses became more ardent he found that both sets of hands wandered onto unfamiliar territory; clothes were unlaced or unbuttoned and then pushed aside. He had no intention of pushing Daine any further than she wanted to go, but having an anti-pregnancy charm on hand seemed like a wise idea.

Procuring such a charm was the reason for his visit to the Corus market. If his Gift could be used to create one, then he would certainly make it himself. There were many shoddy charms available to purchase on the market that would soon begin to falter and lose their magic, offering the wearer little protection. He knew that Alanna would be capable of making one, but he neither wanted to test her acceptance of his and Daine's relationship or face the mortifying experience of asking her. There was only one other person who he considered trustworthy enough to provide him with a safe, effective charm: Nolyn, a Gallan mage who had settled in Tortall several years previously. From a noble family, Nolyn had been disowned for refusing to force the villagers his family ruled over to fight for the king if the need arose. For untrained, poorly armed people, entering a battle was as good as a death sentence. Arriving penniless in Tortall, he had struggled for a couple of years before finally establishing his own shop, where he utilised his talent for healing by selling remedies, potions and charms to the poorest citizens for cheap prices. He and Numair weren't bosom friends, but the man had talent and honour that Numair admired.

When Numair arrived at the shop, he found himself entering another crowd. Dozens of people were packed inside, all clamouring to find the right item. As this was one of the larger market days, people from surrounding villages had travelled to Corus. Nolyn sold inexpensive remedies that could save lives, and so those who were visiting the city for only a day wished to stock up on as much as possible. Luckily, Numair's height meant that he was easily spotted over the mass of people.

"Master Salmalin!" Nolyn called cheerily, hurrying over to his guest. Although he was a stout man, he weaved through the crowd with surprising grace and ease.

"How many times must I ask you to call me Numair?" He asked, grinning. Most people couldn't help but smile when confronted with Nolyn. Straw coloured hair framed a rosy, jovial face and mischievous blue eyes that constantly sparkled. An easy smile that constantly played on his lips could instill some friendliness into all but the most hostile of customers.

"My mother raised me to be courteous, Master Salmalin. But my mother also demanded that I be beheaded for crimes against the realm, which I personally consider to be the height of rudeness. So, Numair," he paused to drop the mage a wink, "how may I help you?"

"May we speak in private?" Numair asked, reluctant to voice his request in front of so many people.

"Of course, please follow me." Nolyn dove back into the crowd, leaving Numair to hurry behind him. Although the patrons of the shop made way for its owner, the path soon closed and so Numair was forced to take long strides to keep up with the healer. Soon they arrived at the back of the room, in front of a wooden door. Nolyn produced a rusted, iron key and slid it into the lock, opening the door to reveal a tiny workroom. He shut the door on the chaos behind them and then turned to Numair, waiting in expectant silence.

"I need…" He coughed, cleared his throat and blushed. Mentally, he berated himself. Why was this suddenly so difficult? He hadn't been so embarrassed about the matter of sex since he was sixteen. Then again, this was different. A wrong word could ruin Daine's reputation and set the gossips' tongues wagging even more than they were already. "I wish to purchase an anti-pregnancy charm."

Nolyn's eyebrow raised the smallest of fractions, and Numair blushed even more to think that his discomfort might be a source of amusement for the healer. "Would this have anything to do with Mistress Sarrasri?" Nolyn asked, his voice friendly.

Numair's first response was, "You know Daine?" Shortly followed by, "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know the lady in question personally, but my former realm turns out so many devious villains that it's difficult _not _to notice when they produce someone admirable," he said, moving over to a desk heavily laden with various phials and potions. "As to your second question, palace servants are frequent customers here, and if there's one thing that you can count on palace servants for, it's gossip."

Pulling open a drawer, Nolyn rummaged inside briefly before finding what it was he searched for. When his hand came back out, it grasped a gold chain with a shimmering rune attached to it. Reaching out with his Gift, Numair tested the magic within the charm and found it to be strong; it would not wear out quickly or fail to provide adequate protection.

Nolyn quickly wrapped the charm in cloth and bound it with string. "I apologise for the poor packaging," he said, handing it to Numair.

"Not at all. How much do I owe you?" He reached inside his pocket, groping for the coin purse that had eluded the thieves.

Shaking his head, Nolyn said, "Nothing."

"I can't take this for nothing!" Numair protested.

"You'll find that you can and will. From what I understand, you and Mistress Sarrasri played a large part in ending the war this summer. Not charging you for a charm is the least I can do."

"But-"

"Manners, Numair!" Nolyn chided gently. "It's discourteous to refuse a gift."

Numair hesitated, reluctant to take the charm without giving anything in return. Eventually he said, "If there's anything I can do for you…"

Nolyn nodded. "Of course, I'll let you know."

* * *

Several hours later, Numair lounged in an armchair, a thick tome open on his lap. On a nearby table various empty dishes and plates were scattered; after spending an entire day at the stables, Daine had been too exhausted to attend supper and Numair had elected to dine with her in their rooms. Now feeling pleasantly full and lazy, he was enjoying the early evening as she bathed in the next room. And it was a fine evening: the breeze that blew in through the open window wasn't hot, as the summer was dying, but warm. It carried different scents: the smell of food being served in the hall that had he not been so full, would have been mouth watering, as well as the mingled scents of several different flowers that grew nearby. 

Head falling back against a cushion, Numair shut his eyes and allowed his mind to wander away from the text he had been focussing on. Normally he would have been completely absorbed by it, but tonight his thoughts were elsewhere. On the pages who would arrive shortly, on the approaching autumn, and, most importantly, on the young woman who he was currently separated from by a rather inconvenient wall.

The book began to slip from his hands and he made a quick grab for it. When he opened his eyes he found that it wasn't slipping at all, but being pulled away by Daine. Smiling up at her, he relinquished his hold on it. She wore simple brown breeches and a green shirt, and her dark curls were damp. When she slid onto his now book-free lap he discovered that her skin was still hot from the bath. "You were thinking too much again, weren't you? I know that look," she said, her voice light and teasing.

"I was thinking about you, Magelet. I could _never _think about you too much."

She pulled a face and laughed. "Flatterer."

Grinning wickedly, he said, "You bring out my flirtatious side."

"I seem to remember you saying that to most of the ladies at Court."

"Well, yes, but I only mean it with you."

Seeing her open her mouth to retort and knowing that this was a battle he couldn't win, he quickly silenced her with a kiss. As always, one kiss turned into many. His hands went around her waist, pulling her close to him, but they soon began to wander. The tips of his fingers touched her flushed cheek, tangled in her hair, and massaged the nape of her neck, eliciting a shiver. Beneath her shirt, they traced her gentle curves and the soft undersides of her breasts before he forced them to return to their original position. Daine's hands conducted their own explorations; sometimes she pressed her palms flat against his chest, and at other times she trailed her blunt nails lazily over his abdomen, making him moan against her lips.

By the time they finally broke apart for more than a few frantic seconds, the light in the room had dimmed so much that soon they would need candles or the light of Numair's Gift. Both shirts had been discarded and now lay in a small, crumpled heap on the floor. Daine's chest rose and fell quickly, although Numair couldn't tell whether it was from lack of air or the same flooding desire that he was drowning in. Leaning forwards, she placed a row of tender kisses from his jaw line to the place where neck and shoulder met.

"Daine…" he moaned softly, unsure of whether he was pleading with her to stop or to carry on.

She jerked back as if burned. Even in the dark he could see the poorly disguised hurt in her eyes. "What's wrong?" She asked quietly.

"We shouldn't – You – I don't want you to do something that you don't want to," he spluttered.

At these words, he felt her relax against him, the muscles he hadn't noticed tensing beginning to loosen. The kiss he received was short, her lips barely grazing his. When she pulled back, blushing, she said, "I don't want to stop."

"Are you sure?" He asked. "I don't want you to regret anything." He would hate for her to look back on the night they became lovers with sadness or anger, regret that she had lain with someone too soon or with the wrong person.

Nodding, she said simply, "I'm sure." Then they were kissing again, and passion made his mind hazy. It was only with a supreme effort that he managed to pull away from her, his body protesting at the sudden loss of her warmth and closeness.

"If you want to do this, then there's a charm-" he began, only to be cut off by Daine's giggle. He arched an eyebrow. "May I ask what has amused you?"

"Ma was a midwife, Numair," she said dryly. "I know what's needed." She brought her hand up to her neck and slid a finger beneath the chain that lay there, showing him the anti-pregnancy charm. Although the gold chain was very fine, he doubted that that was the reason why he had never noticed it before; someone must have spelled it to stay out of sight. Probing the charm to test its potency, he realised that the Gift that had imbued it with its protective powers was purple.

"_Alanna _gave you this?" He asked, astonished.

Daine nodded. "As soon as she found out we were spending a week alone together at the tower."

Numair was unsure whether to feel insulted about what this said of Alanna's opinions of him, or disgruntled that he had gone to so much effort to make sure that Daine had a good charm when she had a perfectly fine one already. But then Daine pressed a lingering kiss to his lips and rose to her feet, offering him her hand as another blush worked its way up her cheeks. Allowing her to lead him towards their bed, he decided that he would brood over Alanna and Nolyn's charm in the morning.


	13. Charms II

Adding three chapters at once. This chapter and the next are shorter than usual, but the third one is the normal length.

* * *

Soft curls tickled Numair's nose, rousing him from his doze. Although they had been sharing a bed for weeks, he still hadn't quite gotten used to waking up and finding Daine at his side. Surprisingly, he found that he was deeply thankful for the momentary lapses of memory that occurred in the hazy time before reality encroached completely on his dreams. It meant that upon opening his eyes he was always shocked and thrilled to find her there, always grateful that her peaceful face lay so close to his on the pillow. 

This particular morning was no different. So surprised was he to find Daine in his bed, wrapped around him as she was, that Numair was utterly convinced that he was still dreaming, and in mere seconds he would wake to find that he was alone. Daine couldn't be lying bare atop him, so trusting in her sleep, her slightly parted lips pressed against his chest. He couldn't have his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her securely against him. None of these things were possible, hadn't he been telling himself that since Midwinter? For a moment the events of the last few weeks melted away, and he was sure that he was experiencing one of the sweetly torturous dreams that had haunted his mind since the fall of the barrier.

Numair waited in terror that the ecstasy of his imagination would fade. But long moments passed and the Daine in his arms became no less substantial, didn't slip through his grasp like mist. Her hot breath still puffed gently against his chest, raising goose pimples around that area. When he flexed his fingers against her waist, he found her flesh to be warm and yielding, and very much solid beneath his hold. The unruly locks of hair continued to tickle his nose, so much so that he was forced to brush them away before they made him sneeze.

The events of the previous night began to trickle back into his mind, and he knew he wasn't dreaming. He remembered the daze in which he had followed Daine to their bedroom, knowing that they were about to become lovers but not quite able to believe it and completely unable to comprehend how they had arrived at that moment. Then the kisses had begun, long and luxurious as they took the time to explore each other, and it ceased to matter how they had arrived at the situation. What mattered was what had seemed impossible months ago was happening, despite the odds and Numair's own attempts to stop it.

He recalled the blushes that had graced both sets of cheeks as clothes were discarded and new territory was explored and memorised. Slowly, he had lovingly traced every inch of her body, fixing the parts of her that ached to be caressed into his memory for future use. She had trembled beneath him, both nervous and drowning in the intense desire that was still largely unfamiliar. He had trembled just as hard, terrified of hurting her and struggling to maintain an ounce of the self control that rapidly crumbled. Then he had lost himself in her heat and softness, and his last thought before coherency became impossible was to wonder how he had ever imagined that he could live without her as his companion, his lover.

No, Numair wasn't dreaming. None of his dreams had ever been that good and despite the brilliance of his mind, his imagination paled in comparison to the reality.

Slowly, so as not to disturb the slumbering young woman in his arms, he rose into a sitting position, resting against the headboard. As gently as he could, he caught her chin in his longs fingers and tilted her head upwards, allowing him a proper view of her face. If she had any doubts about the previous night, any regrets that came to taunt her in her sleep, they didn't show. She looked only peaceful, her eyes unmoving beneath the closed lids and her breathing deep and even.

The dawn bell sounded, calling everyone to another day of work. Numair sighed and tightened his grip on Daine. Soon they would have to rise; she would have odd jobs to complete in the stables and no doubt someone would want to seek his advice on some trivial matter or another. It would be hours before he could see her again, hours before he could hold her in this way. He was used to being parted from her, as sometimes their work for the crown meant it was necessary to be separated, but this morning the idea seemed terrible.

Determined that he would make the most of his time with Daine, he returned to studying her face. He recalled how she had woken him from his two day slumber following the duel with Inar Hadensra, and decided that it was time for him to repay the favour. Cradling her cheek in one large hand, he placed several kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose and her stubborn chin. The final and most tender kiss was reserved for her lips.

It took Numair a few seconds to realise that the kiss was being returned. Anxiety that he hadn't acknowledged dispersed; if she was kissing him, then she couldn't regret the previous night completely. When the need for air finally became dire, he pulled back and surveyed her closely. A slight blush rose on her cheeks, but she held his gaze firmly; it was too early in the morning for embarrassment. "Good morning," he greeted her softly.

"'Morning," she said, smiling. "You're staring, Master Salmalin."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "but you're quite a sight."

She fixed him with a mock scowl and poked him lightly in the chest. "If that's a slur on my nest of hair, I'll-" She broke off, turning rigid in his arms.

"Daine?" He said, frowning. Tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, he asked, "Are you alright?"

She shook her head and sprang from the bed, tugging on the first clothes that came to hand. "Spidrens," she stated briefly. "A _lot _of them." Paling, Numair followed her lead and grabbed a pair of breeches. If he had needed further proof that he wasn't in a dream, this was it. An attack was hardly unexpected with all the immortals still wandering loose in the realm, but he wished that they hadn't chosen this morning, of all mornings, to launch it.

A hand on his shoulder made him pause in the process of ramming his feet into a pair of boots. He looked up and Daine's lips landed squarely on his in a brief kiss. "You can make fun of my hair later," she said gently. Grinning wryly, he nodded and continued to dress. Within seconds they were out of the room, calling a warning to everyone as they raced towards the next emergency.


	14. The Sniffles

It had started with a tickle in the back of his throat. Nothing serious, just an itch that irked him all day. When he slid into bed that night, the ardent kiss he pressed against his lover's lips was interrupted by a hacking cough, followed shortly by a series of gasps and splutters. Any chance of romance now gone, he fixed his mind instead on the surprisingly difficult task of getting to sleep. Whenever it seemed as if drowsiness would finally overcome him, he would suddenly bolt upwards, pressing fingers to streaming eyes as he released a series of violent sneezes.

By the time the sun rose, Numair had been forced to accept what Daine had been trying to tell him all of the previous day: he was ill. He hadn't been claimed by some life threatening sickness or wounds sustained in the course of a courageous battle. No, the famed black robe mage Numair Salmalin had been brought low by the common cold.

"Promise me you'll see a healer today," Daine ordered sternly as she hurried about their bedroom, preparing for a long day of work at the stables.

"No," Numair said, attempting to sound firm and failing miserably. "I will not trouble the healers because I have a sniffle."

"If _I _was the one with the sniffle, you'd force horrible potions down my throat and frog march me to Alanna."

This was perfectly true, of course, and so he chose to ignore the comment. "Onua will be arriving within the hour," he said. "If you don't leave for breakfast now, you'll be late meeting her."

Daine glared at him, clearly seeing through his diversionary tactic. Nevertheless, he had a point and she swiftly finished pinning up her hair and pulled on a pair of leather boots. Gracing his forehead with a brief kiss, she hurried to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. She fixed him with the most serious look she could muster and said, "When I get back, if I hear that you've left that bed for any reason other than to see a healer, there'll be trouble."

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled meekly. Once the door closed behind his lover, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Standing up, he was immediately overcome by a wave of dizziness. With a groan, he fell back onto the mattress, thinking glumly that he would have to obey Daine's order to stay in bed whether he liked it or not.

The day that followed was one of the most torturous of his existence. Unable to leave the room or even stand up, he was forced to seek amusement with whatever lay an arm's reach from the bed. The piles of books that were within easy reach did little to hold his attention; watering eyes and constant coughing fits made it difficult to concentrate on the tiny, archaic text. He didn't even have Kitten to keep him company, as the young dragonet was spending a week with her grandparents in the Dragon Lands.

During the afternoon, his temperature began to climb. It never rose high enough to be considered dangerous, just enough to insure his constant discomfort. He stripped down to his loincloth and threw the covers off the bed, but it still wasn't enough. Opening the window would cool him down, but the thought of moving his seemingly lead filled limbs was inconceivable.

Shortly before the bell that announced supper sounded, the door that led to the study swung open and Daine hurried inside, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Although the sun had been shining and the sky azure all day, the rosy hue in her cheeks suggested that the air had an autumn chill to it. She took one look at Numair, the pitiful look in his eyes and the arms that stretched out to her in silent invitation, and smiled. "You didn't see a healer, did you?" She scolded lightly, coming to perch on the edge of the bed.

Shaking his head, Numair pulled her into his arms. He buried his face against her neck, savouring the wonderful feel of her cool skin against his burning flesh. "You're roasting!" Daine cried, gently pulling his head back to search his face for signs of fever.

"I'm fine, sweetling," he assured her. "There's no fever, I'm just too blasted hot. _You, _on the other hand, are nicely chilled." Disentangling her fingers from his long hair, he attempted to pull her against him and frowned when she evaded his grasp. The pleas for her to return died in his throat as she kicked off her boots and hopped down the bed. She pulled her shirt up and over her head, not bothering to undo the buttons. Her work breeches slipped down her hips and were quickly thrown next to the place where her discarded shirt lay. Finally, she pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the dark curls to tumble down around her shoulders.

"Enjoy it while you can," she said, clambering back onto the mattress and straddling his waist. "I'll warm up soon enough." Gently, she lowered herself onto him, pressing her chest and belly to his and gripping his legs with her slender thighs. Her face went to the place where his pulse fluttered, mimicking his pose of a few moments before. Blessed coolness seeped into Numair's skin wherever her flesh touched his, raising goose pimples and shivers.

"Better?" She asked.

"Much," he groaned.

Raising her head, Daine grinned at him. When their eyes met, he recognised the mischievous glint he saw gleaming in the blue-grey depths. "I know something that will make you feel even better," she said, placing a kiss firmly on his chest.

"Then by all means, proceed," he said, all thoughts of illness and his former boredom quickly deserting him.

"I have your permission to do _anything _I wish to make you feel better?"

Soft lips found and closed around Numair's earlobe, and teeth nibbled daintily on the delicate flesh. The tip of a tongue quickly followed, soothing the area. "Yes," he gasped with difficulty, "you have my permission."

To his great disconcertment, the teasing lips suddenly left his skin and Daine's comforting weight was gone from his body. Struggling to prop himself up on his elbow, he saw that she was shrugging on one of the robes that had been draped over the back of an armchair. Once it was securely wrapped around her, she bellowed, _"Now!"_

The door to the study, the door that Daine had entered through only a few minutes previously, burst open and Alanna strode in, a determined look on her face. Purple fire was already beginning to gather around her hands. She struggled to conceal her amusement as Numair groped for the discarded bed sheets, attempting to cover his near nakedness. "You just sit still," she ordered. "You need healing, and I'm not leaving until it's done."

He glared at Daine, fully ready to protest that he didn't need healing for the sake of a little cold. But the look on her face stopped him. _You said 'anything', _her dancing eyes clearly said, _you gave me your permission. _Sighing, he flopped back into the mound of pillows and waved his hand, giving Alanna permission to do what she must. The knight was on him in an instant, not giving him the chance to change his mind. As Numair had expected, the healing was over in an instant. After all, it was only a minor cold and it wouldn't take a talented mage long to burn all traces of the illness from his body. Soon Alanna was stepping back, grinning and shaking her head. "You're easily led, laddybuck," she said, looking from the pile of Daine's clothes to Numair.

"Thank you, Alanna," Daine said. "I never would have convinced him to visit the infirmary."

"Yes, thank you," Numair said grudgingly, scowling at both of them. "Although I can't say that I approve of your methods."

Alanna shrugged, her grin widening. "If you would just see a healer when you're told, I wouldn't have to resort to unorthodox methods. Well," she clapped her hands and began to move towards the door, "as much as I'd love to stay and watch you sulk and squirm, Jon has requested my immediate presence."

"Oh?" Numair said, cocking an eyebrow. Anxiety about why the king required the attention of his Champion so urgently made him forget his irritation, at least temporarily. The thought of Alanna returning to their rooms and announcing yet another attack, human or immortal, was enough to make him want to pull the covers over his head and stay there until Midwinter. "Nothing too serious, I hope."

Frowning, Alanna said, "He was very vague - something about a page and a probationary year, although I can't imagine why he would want to talk to me about that." Murmuring her goodbyes, she quickly exited the room, the confused frown still firmly in place.

Now alone together, Numair turned his attention to Daine, who had the good grace to blush and look sheepish. "You are a wicked, _wicked _woman," he said.

Her eyes rose from the floor and sought his, a slow smile that made him shiver appreciatively spreading over her face. "Mayhap," she said slyly. "But at least now you're in a fit sate to pay me back in kind."


	15. Pages

Numair sat behind the oak desk, his hands folded calmly in his lap as he watched the fourth year pages trail into the room. He had been absent for much of their third year as it had been more important to utilise his power and knowledge on the battlefield rather than in a classroom, and his unexpected reappearance provoked different reactions. Those who respected him for what he could teach them (or at least respected the fact that he could turn them into a tree with a single word) greeted him with polite smiles and nods. Those who remembered the lengthy, tedious essays and dense books he set them struggled to conceal grimaces, and hastily beat a path to the seats at the back of the room.

Behind him, wrapped up in the folds of one of his thicker robes, sat Daine. Although Numair couldn't see her, he knew exactly what she was doing: raising a hand to fiddle with the claw that hung around her neck, wrapping a smoky curl around her finger, or biting the already bitten down nail of her thumb. She hadn't wanted to come today, he knew, but it was high time that the pages learn something of wild magic, and he was adamant that Daine should be the one to teach them. Nobles, or at least the type who thought their title gave them the right to do what they liked to who they liked, made her uncomfortable. This, coupled with her certainty that these young men wouldn't be interested in anything she had to say, made her extremely reluctant to attend the lesson. In the end, Numair's combined pleading and cajoling had won out and she had consented to his request, albeit with a scowl.

Turning, he gave her a brief, reassuring smile and saw that she had pulled the robe tight around herself. To allow her the freedom to demonstrate her ability to shape shift, she wore _only_ the robe, which added to her discomfort. When he turned to face the class again he discovered that all the seats were filled and every set of eyes was fixed on either himself or Daine.

"Welcome back," Numair said, rising to his feet. "I trust you have all had a productive, if not relaxing, summer." A few wry smiles greeted this remark. Over the summer, being "productive" had meant fighting off the hoards of immortals that invaded their home fiefs.

"Unfortunately, there will be no time to relax now. We will immediately begin the study of a magic that will be unfamiliar to many of you." He said, gesturing to Daine, who rose quickly and came to stand at his side. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he squeezed gently and said, "This is Veralidaine Sarrasri, one of my private students."

Those who lived at the palace, who knew that Numair and his student were lovers, smirked at this. However, the knowledge of the relationship at least kept their eyes from straying to inappropriate places. The pages who were ignorant of the latest Court gossip surveyed Daine openly, paying particular attention to her sensitive mouth and hints of the soft curves that could be glimpsed beneath the baggy robe. Numair felt a sudden, rare flash of jealousy and quashed the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

He cleared his throat, bringing all eyes back to him. Once he was sure that he had everyone's attention he continued, "Can anyone tell me what kind of magic Mistress Sarrasri has?"

"She's the Wild Mage, isn't she?" A sandy haired boy at the front of the class asked hesitantly.

"Correct," Numair said, indulging in a burst of pride that Daine was becoming well known. "That title does _not _mean that she is feral or uncontrollable, as some of the second years so amusingly suggested, but that she has a very rare, very ancient strand of magic, known as wild magic.Wild magic allows a connection with animals. The majority of people who possess it can communicate with only one species; for example, both Stefan Groomsman and Onua the horsemistress, rather unsurprisingly, have an affinity with horses. Mistress Sarrasri, however, can communicate with and shape shift into any animal."

"_Shape shift!_" The same page who spoke before exclaimed before promptly turning crimson as every eye in the class turned to him.

"Yes, Mistress Sarrasri can shape shift," Numair confirmed. He looked down at her and smiled encouragingly. "May we have a demonstration?" He asked. At her nod, he beamed proudly and began to gather up her hair. They had already discussed what she would show the pages, and it was necessary for her ears to be clearly visible. Tenderly he swept back each curl, being careful not to tug the soft strands too hard. By the time he finished, she had shaped a large pair of bat ears on the sides of her head. The class stared on in a mixture of awe and fear, murmuring to each other in voices that could barely be heard.

"No, it doesn't hurt," Daine said, speaking to a small page at the back of the class. The boy started, looking terrified. Numair hadn't heard the boy speak, hadn't even seen his lips move, but Daine's temporary ears meant that she could hear much more than he could ever hope to.

"As you can see, her abilities aren't merely decorative," he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Bat ears allow her to hear far more than human ears, just as hawk eyes give her eyesight far in advance of our own.

"Can you change into whole animals?" Alfred, a page who turned in brilliant essays that were always splattered with candle wax, asked. "Or just bits of them?"

"Whole animals," Daine said.

"_Any _animal?"

Daine nodded, and the class exploded as everyone began to call out requests for certain animals for her to change into.

"Snake!" 

"A horse!"

"A cat!"

Frowning, Numair raised his hand to call the pages back to attention. "Dai – Mistress Sarrasri is not here to perform for you. If you request it _politely, _she may consent to another demonstration. However, another outburst like that will result in an essay on the importance of courtesy in the classroom." The pages fell silently immediately; although it was only their first week back at the palace, they were already swamped with assignments and extra training, and no one, not even those who admired him, wanted to have to write an essay for a teacher famed for his high expectations and his tendency to set even more difficult work if the first assignment didn't meet his exacting standards.

"Much better," Numair said, surveying his silent audience with satisfaction. "Now, does anyone have a request for Mistress Sarrasri?"

Alfred thrust his hand into the air and Numair nodded to him. Rising to his feet, he smiled charmingly and swept into a low bow. "Please excuse the dreadfully impolite behaviour of myself and my peers," he said gravely. "If you're not horribly offended, I hope that you will do us the great honour of demonstrating your ability." He paused for a moment before adding, "Personally, I love dogs."

Numair rolled his eyes at no one in particular, caught between exasperation and amusement. If anyone else had spoken like that, he would have suspected them of mocking Daine. But he knew that Alfred wasn't making fun, it was just his way; he had a penchant for the dramatic, and would use five words when he could just as easily have used one. However, Daine wasn't acquainted with the boy and Numair worried that his words would offend her. Casting a sidelong glance at her, he saw that a smile curved her lips.

"I'd prefer a wolf, if that's alright with you, Page," she said.

Alfred nodded graciously and bowed deeply again before taking his seat. Daine began to transform as slowly as she knew how, giving the pages a chance to witness the transition from human to wolf limbs. It soon became apparent that the loose robe had been a wise choice; if she had worn any of her own clothes, her powerful new form would have torn the seams. Within a matter of seconds, a large wolf with a brown coat streaked with grey stood where Daine had. She wriggled, fighting her way out of the constraining robe. Numair knelt swiftly at her side, freeing her from the confining fabric.

The Daine-wolf trotted down the aisle between desks, drawing different reactions. Some of the boys shied away from her, whereas others reached forwards to tangle their fingers in her fur, stopped only by a dangerous look from their teacher. She came to a halt in front of Alfred and sat down, tilting her head. He tipped his head towards her politely, smiling. "Most gracious of you, Mistress Sarrasri. May I extend my most heart-filled thanks to you that-?"

"Enough," Numair snapped impatiently, cutting the boy off. "You are a page, _not _a player." Daine turned and hurried back up the aisle, disappearing behind Numair's desk. He tossed the robe to her and a few moments later she emerged, human and clothed again.

"This is all very interesting," a voice drawled from the back of the class, "but I don't see how it's relevant." Numair searched for and located the source of the voice: it came from a dark haired and blue eyed boy. His pale colouring and slim, powerful frame spoke of his fief in the far north, a place of snow and pine trees where even the nobles learned to track and climb the mountains at an early age. Although he had a small amount of Gift himself, he had no patience for magical knowledge and resented that he was required to learn how to use his limited power as a part of knighthood training. Many times over the past three years Numair had been forced to punish him for sneering openly at his teachings and refusing to complete assignments. No matter how many essays he was forced to write in what should be his free time, no matter how many latrines or corridors he was forced to scrub, he refused to at least pretend to respect any of his magical teachers.

"Not relevant," Numair repeated quietly. "How so?"

"I'm sure it's wonderful fun for Mistress _Sarrasri,_" being from the north, he knew the implications of the name and made sure to lay emphasis on it, "to be able to speak to her little animal friends. But how will that help us when we earn our shields? Little chats with animals won't help us on the battlefield, and neither will her parlour tricks."

Alfred glared at him, and hissed at him to hold his tongue. Numair opened his mouth to scold the boy, to inform him that the Wildmage gave Tortall a tremendous advantage in battle and to remind him of the courtesy owed to guests in the classroom. Before he could so much as utter a syllable, another voice stopped him.

"This is their home as much as it is ours," Daine said coldly. Numair was suddenly reminded strongly of their brief visit to the castle at Dunlath, when she had stood up and warned the assembled nobles of the danger of thinking they could do what they wished with animals and nature, despite the sneers she attracted. "If it's threatened they'll fight as hard as any knight to defend it."

"I fail to see how-"

"Ignorant two-legger," she mumbled angrily beneath her breath, just loud enough for Numair to hear. "Little birds can track an enemy throughout the realm, and owls follow their movement at night. Cats and dogs can guard and scout. Rodents will gnaw through ropes and make sure that they don't have mounts to ride into battle, and the larger animals can foul water and food supplies." Numair couldn't help but be amused by this: Daine had hardly said a word since entering the classroom, and now she was moved to speak not in defence of herself, but her friends.

"Quite right," Numair said softly, laying his hand on her shoulder and brushing his thumb briefly across the nape of her neck. He knew that this was slightly inappropriate, but he couldn't stop himself. He loved her like this, fiercely beautiful as she was caught up and swept away by her passionate anger. "As for shape shifting, I can assure you that it is no 'parlour trick', but one of the most useful skills a mage can possess. It's saved my life more times than I care to count."

"You can shape shift?" The sandy haired page asked. "Does that mean you have wild magic?"

"Yes, I can shape shift, although I can only take one form. I don't have wild magic; if you will excuse my immodesty, those in possession of a powerful Gift can learn how to shape shift."

"What form can you take?" Alfred asked.

"A hawk," Daine said quietly. She looked up at Numair, her eyes dancing. "Although his isn't as good as mine."

Numair's eyebrows shot up as the class chuckled. "Is that a challenge, magelet?" He asked quietly enough so that only she could hear. She held his gaze a moment before stepping away, biting down on the devilish smile that threatened to form on her lips. Suddenly she turned and the robe fell to the floor, empty. A hawk rose into the air and darted through the open window, wheeling out into the sky.

Numair watched her go, torn between the desire to follow her and the knowledge of his duty to the pages. Lord Wyldon wouldn't approve of him leaving, of _that _he was certain. On the other hand, didn't a famed mage have to guard his reputation? He couldn't let challenges go unanswered, even if they were from his lover. Deciding that that was justification enough, he turned back to the pages and said, "The remainder of today's class time you will spend in the library." Seeing the boys' faces light up as they sensed a free hour, he hastened to add, "You will research the properties of wild magic, including its benefits and limitations, as well as any famed wild mages. I expect a two thousand word report to be on my desk by the weekend."

Groaning, the pages rose as one and hurried from the class before Numair could make it a three thousand word report. As soon as the last boy left and the door closed, he hurriedly shed his human form and gained the sleek feathers and wings of a hawk. Leaping into the air, he tore out of the window, hoping that Daine hadn't had too much of a head start.


	16. Midwinter

Numair glared at the familiar dark wood and brass nameplate of his door. Moments ago, he had tried to enter his rooms only to be screamed at by several female voices to stay out in the corridor. Amongst the voices he had made out Daine's, pleading weakly for help. But when he had tried to force his way into the room, someone – he assumed it was Alanna – secured the door against him, and informed him in no uncertain terms that if he tried to enter before he was given permission he would answer for it on the tip of her sword.

People who hurried past him, mostly servants and pages wearing frantic expressions, looked at him strangely. He had to concede that he must look odd, dressed in all his finery and lurking in a dark corridor. A black silk robe, the symbol of his magical power, fell to his ankles. It hung open, and beneath it a shirt, tunic and a pair of breeches of equally extravagant material could be glimpsed. At his throat hung an opal on a simple chain, and his raven-black hair was swept back in its usual horsetail. Despite his reputation for vanity he would much prefer to be wearing something simpler, and he especially would have liked to leave the robe in his dresser, where it belonged. But if he arrived at the grand Midwinter banquet in cloth shirt and breeches he was certain that Thayet would flay him.

After what seemed like an age, the door swung open and Numair watched as Thayet, Alanna and Onua filed out. Like him they were dressed in their very best, but, unlike him, they also wore large grins. "Do I have your permission to enter my own rooms now?" He asked, voice dripping sarcasm.

Onua chuckled and said, "You'll thank us for it later tonight."

"We will listen to Numair's groveling apology and heartfelt thanks later," Thayet said, eyes sparkling. "Now we need to make our way to the banquet." She smoothed out an invisible crease in her dress and strolled down the corridor, Alanna and Onua following behind her.

Alanna paused at Numair's shoulder and murmured, "Sorry about the threat, but you're so blasted stubborn that it was the only way I could be sure you would listen. We couldn't have you barging in and spoiling the surprise."

Numair shook his head. "If a day went by without you threatening me in some way then I'd be worried. And _what_ surprise?"

"You'll see," Alanna said, grinning, before she hurried after the other two women.

Grumbling lightly beneath his breath, Numair entered his room and shut the door behind him. A quick sweep of his eyes revealed no sign of Daine, although he was _certain _that he had heard her voice. There was only Kitten, cavorting on the floor in what looked like a pile of discarded dresses. Her reptilian eyes rose and she trilled a greeting, deserting the dresses to rise and nibble affectionately on the bottom of the robe. "Hello, Kit," Numair said, running a long finger down the scales of her snout. "Have you seen Daine?"

Kitten chortled and released his robe, trotting over to the door that led to the bedroom. She sat down heavily and began to whistle, but Numair slid his hand around her snout, gently holding her jaws shut. "Not quite yet," he murmured, rising out of his crouch once he was sure that she would be silent. Knocking quietly on the door, he called, "Sweet? Are you in there?"

Silence, and then a small voice said, "Yes."

"May I come in?"

"No!" Daine said, this time vehemently. "I look ridiculous!"

"I'm certain that's not true. You are _always _beautiful, even covered in dirt and straw," he said firmly. Through the door he could hear Daine muttering quietly; most of her words were indistinct, but he caught 'player' and 'flatterer'. "No flattery, sweet," he said. "Only truth."

"I was wrong. You're not a player. You're _worse_."

Chuckling quietly, Numair nodded to Kitten. She whistled quietly; the lock on the door glowed and then, with a soft pop, opened. The door swung open and Numair strode inside, saying, "You can't hide all night. We have to-" He stopped short as his eyes fell on Daine. The women had persuaded or forced her into a dress. It was a deep, rich green that put Numair in mind of the forests that surrounded the palace. Unlike most of the dresses that he would see tonight it was simple, devoid of any frills or ruffles, and the material clung slightly, accentuating and drawing the eye to modest curves. The cut of the dress revealed creamy shoulders and her hair was swept up, leaving her slender neck bare. Several loose curls framed a face that scowled.

Kitten gave a low whistle. Numair didn't need to be able to mind-speak with her to understand; the sentiment was clear. Daine frowned and plopped down onto the end of the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I _told_ you I look ridiculous," she said.

"Magelet, no," Numair said, moving to sit beside her. "_I _told _you _that you are always beautiful, and tonight is no exception."

"But…" She gestured helplessly at the dress.

"I know," Numair said sympathetically. He knew that Daine felt as uncomfortable in a gown as he felt in his black robe, but, unfortunately, some situations didn't take their comfort into account. "You would rather be in breeches. But you _are _beautiful. If my word isn't good enough, ask Kitten." At this the dragonet gave the same awe filled whistle as before, and Numair silently thanked her. "See?" He said. "She agrees. You look wondrous."

Daine sighed and turned her face into his shoulder, but not before he caught a hint of a smile. "Charmer," she muttered.

"I have already told you," Numair said, sliding a finger beneath her chin to force her to look up into his face, "it's not flattery when I say that you are beautiful, only the truth." He eased his lips gently over Daine's, and thrilled in the small shiver that made her bare shoulders tremble beneath his fingers. His arms fell to wrap around her waist, lifting her slender form easily. She giggled against his lips as she flew through the air, coming to rest in his lap. As the laughter died and the kiss deepened, Daine's fingers slipped beneath the layers of clothes to stroke the taut flesh of his stomach. Vaguely, he thought that they should stop before they missed the banquet all together; but he was incapable of pulling away from her, even if it meant being slaughtered by his monarchs.

Eventually it was a series of outraged clucks and whistles that halted them. Breaking the kiss, they glanced around to find a bright pink Kitten. "Sorry, Kit," Daine laughed, sliding off Numair's lap. Resisting the urge to pull her back on, Numair rose and moved to the mirror to fix the clothes that Daine's wandering hands had rumpled. After apologising profusely to Kitten and managing to restore her scales to their normal shade of blue, Daine hurried towards the dresser and began to rummage in her jewelry box.

The jewelry box was a new addition to their rooms, and one of the several Midwinter gifts that Numair had given her that morning. It was a beautiful item, made of dark, carved wood and lined with rich velvet. Normally Numair wouldn't have bought her something so extravagant and useless, knowing that she preferred gives that she could utilise day to day, but it actually had a practical use. The amount of hair ties and pins they were managing to accumulate between them was getting ridiculous. It seemed they could hardly sit down without being pricked or getting tangled in ties. The jewelry box was the perfect place to store them.

With a triumphant noise, Daine carefully drew something from its depths before closing the lid. She began to fiddle with a silver chain, taking pains to fasten it around her wrist securely. Stepping closer, Numair could see that it was a bracelet, the belated Midwinter present he had given to her at spring. "There," she said, smiling up at him. "I feel a bit less ridiculous now."

He crossed the distance between them quickly and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him for another kiss. There was an irate whistle, and they looked up to find the once again pink Kitten stalking from the room. "Sorry!" Daine called sheepishly after her retreating form.

Sighing, Numair released Daine and let his arms fall to his sides. "We should probably thank her. If we delay any longer we will miss the banquet."

* * *

A little over an hour later, they were seated at a table in the hall. To Daine's right sat Lindhall Reed, who fired a constant stream of questions at her. Although it meant he had barely a minute to speak to his oldest friend and former teacher, Numair couldn't help but smile. It meant the world to him that Lindhall liked Daine and admired her mastery of her magic. Just behind them, seated on a stool of her own, sat Kitten. Her earlier embarrassment and sulkiness had quite vanished, and she happily slurped the soup that they had been served. 

A small flock of pages descended on their table, whisking away the empty bowls and refilling their glasses. One of them, Nealan of Queenscove, seemed particularly nervous. He almost spilled wine over Daine, who only laughed and waved away his apologies before resuming her discussion with Lindhall. Numair couldn't help but feel sorry for the page; the first time serving at Court had to be a nerve wracking experience, especially when it came to waiting on the more exacting nobles.

The pages disappeared and then returned moments later bearing the second course. A plate was placed in front of him containing venison and various vegetables. Glancing at Daine's plate, he noted with approval that the cooks had remembered his instructions and served her fish. A hand found his beneath the table and squeezed lightly. Daine smiled gratefully up at him, knowing without being told who had been considerate enough to arrange the special meal for her.

Numair barely had the time to take a bite of his venison before a voice at his shoulder distracted him. Turning, he found Allysa Tanner. Allysa was one of the palace mages, a yellow robe. She bore an almost unsettling resemblance to Varice Kingsford, but in personality the two women couldn't be further apart. Whereas Varice had always refused his many requests for her to expand and use her power, Allysa had a burning ambition to strive and succeed. Varice's love affairs had been as legendary as his own, but, as far as Numair knew, Allysa had only ever had one lover, who she was marrying in the spring.

"Mistress Tanner? Is everything alright?" He asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daine pause in her conversation with Lindhall and discretely survey the newcomer.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Master Salmalin," Allysa said stiffly. "But something is amiss with the working." Allysa and Owain, her lover, a Gallan born yellow robe who also resided at the palace, had been working together on a small project since the end of the war. If they succeeded, Jon would have improved spells to detect hard to find spies, such as darkings. Numair had offered his help numerous times but they had always turned him down; if Allysa was coming to him now, in the middle of a royal banquet, then something must have gone drastically wrong.

"I will come straight away," Numair said, pushing his seat back and rising to his feet. Daine grasped the sleeve of his robe, looking up at him questioningly.

"You're leaving? Now?" She asked.

"I'm sorry," he said, bending to press a swift kiss against her forehead. "Allysa needs help with a working that has gone awry." At 'Allysa', Daine's eyebrows shot up and she surveyed the woman again. Numair knew what she was thinking as clearly as if she had told him. Although he did his best to reassure her, a small part of Daine was always scared that he would decide that he wanted another woman, someone more mature. The small crowd of Court ladies that flocked around him at every social event didn't help, and neither did Allysa's resemblance to Varice. Moving his mouth to her ear he murmured, "It's just a working, sweet, nothing more. Nothing you need to worry about. Allysa and her _lover_ have been working on it for months; it would be a shame if it failed now."

When he pulled back he saw that she was blushing lightly. Casting him an apologetic look, she nodded and turned back to Lindhall. Numair straightened and turned to Allysa. "Lead the way."

* * *

Numair was away for much longer than he intended. The working had gone _almost_ irreparably wrong; Allysa and Owain had used spells that were far in advance of their rank and had found them much harder than they expected. After three hours of cursing and draining half of his Gift, he managed to right it and extracted a promise from the sheepish duo that next time they would ask for his help before things went so horribly wrong. 

By the time he emerged from their workroom the midnight hour was about to be sounded. He expected that Daine would have left the banquet long ago, but as he had to pass the hall to reach their rooms he decided to check quickly. To his great surprise, Daine was still there and still in deep discussion with Lindhall. They were two of only a handful of people still seated at the deserted tables. A page hovered close by, a half empty pitcher in his hands. When Numair got closer he discovered that it was Nealan of Queenscove, almost swaying on his feet with weariness.

"There's really no need to stay, Page," he heard Lindhall say. "We can manage fine by ourselves."

"Yes, Nealan, we don't want to keep you from your bed," Daine's voice was light, but tiredness was beginning to creep in. "Lord Wyldon works you hard. I'd feel awful if you broke something during training because you were too tired from serving us to concentrate."

"It's my pleasure to serve you, Lady Daine, although I'm deeply touched by your concern," Nealan said, giving her a glowing smile. Numair suddenly had the suspicion that Nealan's insistence on remaining had nothing to do with his sense of duty. The page's gaze on Daine was one Numair recognised: attentive and adoring, following her smallest gestures with care. Lindhall made a comment and she laughed, throwing back her head and exposing the delicate skin of her neck and throat; Nealan's eyes lit with pleasure. Numair's eyes narrowed.

Glancing up, Lindhall spotted him and called out a greeting. Daine turned and, seeing him, her eyes lit up in the same way Nealan's had a moment before. "Numair!" She cried. She began to rise from her seat but he stepped forward swiftly, stopping her by placing his hands possessively on her shoulders. "How did it go?" She asked. "You were gone for hours."

"The working was almost ruined. It took longer than I anticipated to salvage it."

"Would you care for some water, Master Numair?" Nealan asked, raising the pitcher in readiness.

"No thank you, Page," Numair said curtly. "You should be in bed. As should we, dear one." He bent quickly and pressed a kiss against her throat, against the place that Nealan had been staring at. Daine's eyebrows almost disappeared beneath her hair, and Lindhall politely disguised a burst of laughter with a cough. Although he never attempted to hide his relationship with Daine, neither did he make such suggestive remarks. It had the desired effect; Nealan, now bright red, quickly set the pitcher down on the table and muttered something about getting some rest.

Once he had made his escape, Lindhall quickly excused himself and followed. Alone, Daine looked up at Numair and said, "You can't possibly be jealous, Master Salmalin. Not after what you said to me earlier."

Offering his hand, he helped her up out of the seat and began to steer her towards the door. "Of course not. I was moved to speak by concern for our pages, not jealousy."


	17. Snowsdale

Sorry that it's far less fluffy than usual, but I thought it was important for Daine to visit Snowsdale. Numair will be getting something similar sometime in the future, when they visit his family in Tyra.

* * *

Sometimes, mostly when she slept, he looked at her scars. He knew how she had acquired most of them, having spent hours fretting over the injuries grave enough to leave their indelible marks on her skin. But there were a few which remained a mystery to him and it was these that kept him awake late into the night, tracing the threads of toughened skin with a gentle fingertip and a deep frown. Was this where a wicked thorn had lodged itself inside her? Did this one speak of a bandit's dirty blade? One scar – a small one just above her elbow – was unique in that it was the only one he loved, the only one it didn't cause him pain to see. He often brushed his lips reverently against it, deeply grateful for the saving bite that had restored both her sanity and humanity. 

Since she made the announcement he had dreamed frequently of how she had received the scars. In his mind he ran through the woods by her side, watching branches and brambles scrape her bare flesh. He stood helplessly by, crying his alarm, as a filthy, mountain of a man drew blood with his dagger and a wolf licked the wound clean. These dreams – nightmares – scared him, and quite often he had to reassure himself that his love, slumbering unaware at his side, was peaceful and whole.

Despite the nightmares, once he had made certain that Daine wanted to visit Snowsdale he made no further objections. This was something she _needed, _she said. It would be unpleasant and painful, perhaps even terrifying, but necessary. She hadn't had the strength to do it before, when such a visit would have brought images of her ma, still and blood soaked, screaming to the fore of her mind. Now she had a new image of Sarra, beautiful and eternally young in the Divine Realms, and the knowledge that her grandda was happy in the Black God's Realm. Visiting her homeland would allow her to put any ghosts and lingering doubts to rest, and she could give herself over completely to her life in Tortall with Numair.

So when Jon requested volunteers to investigate a rumoured centaur uprising in the north, Daine and Numair snatched the opportunity. At first Jon was reluctant to let two of his most powerful mages leave on what could turn out to be a wild goose chase, but after Numair spoke to him quietly the king gave him both his permission and blessing, and voiced a hope that Daine would find whatever she needed to.

The journey north was long and, for the most part, peaceful, even cheerful at times. For months the previous year they had traveled the land and found only death and destruction wherever they turned. It did both of them good to see the recovery efforts, to see new babies in communities that had lost many and newly built homes in place of those that had been lost to fire. Once they reached the north they discovered that Jon's guess had been right, and the rumours of a centaur rebellion were just that – rumours, stirred up by frightened villagers who found it difficult to tell the difference between peaceable centaurs who accepted and lived by the realm's rules, and those who had launched constant attacks on them months before.

It was obvious that someone needed to mediate between the villagers and centaurs before the tension rose to a point where there was _real _trouble, but Numair and Daine weren't the people to do it. Daine, who had never been one to sugar coat her words, stood a very good chance of making things worse and most people were too terrified of Numair to stand near him long enough to hear what he had to say. After sending a letter to Jon explaining the situation, they continued into Galla. As the journey wore on Daine fell more frequently into thoughtful silences, her face dark and unreadable as she stared off into the distance. Many times Numair found himself opening his mouth to suggest turning back and going home, only for the words to die on his tongue. She had said she needed this; he wouldn't let his own discomfort stop her from doing what she had to.

Standing on a hill that overlooked Snowsdale, he began to question the wisdom of that decision. Despite the warmth in the spring air Daine shook and her face was pale, as if she was just emerging from some long, drawn-out illness. Numair had thought, foolishly it now seemed, that the memories of her childhood home had ceased to pain her as much as they once had. Watching her now, it was like peeling back a bandage to find that a wound that should have long since healed still wept and festered.

"Are you certain?" Numair asked quietly. "I wouldn't blame you if you decided to go home."

Daine took a breath and pushed back loose curls with a hand that trembled. Both their mounts shifted uncomfortably beneath them, sensing her pain, but it was Cloud who clearly felt the most discomfort. The pony knew what this place meant to Daine; she had been there when she buried her family, she had stayed at her side, despite her terror, during her time with the pack, and she had saved her life when the villagers meant to kill her. "I'm sure," Daine said after a long pause. "I don't have to see _them,_" she spat contemptuously, waving a hand to indicate the village, "only ma's house."

"As you wish. As he knows of our presence here, courtesy dictates that we must pay a visit to the lord." Seeing her blanch, he hastened to add, "We don't have to go through the village to get to the castle, we can take the path around it." Daine smiled gratefully and he reached across the distance to take her hand, raising it to his lips to press a kiss against it.

Taking the long route it took them a little over a candle mark to reach the castle. They crossed the paths of one or two villagers on the way but, although Cloud and Spots whinnied softly as anxiety took hold of her, if they recognised Daine they said nothing. As they neared the castle they heard hoof beats and a young man on a black stallion drew up next to them. His cheeks were flushed from what was clearly an exhilarating ride and his pale green eyes were lit with excitement. "Master Salmalin?" He called.

Numair nodded and asked, "Am I addressing the lord of this castle?"

The young man nodded in reply and reached out to shake Numair's hand. "Deniel Oransra."

"My companion is Veralidaine Sarrasri," Numair said, taking Deniel's hand and indicating Daine with a nod his head.

"Sarrasri?" Deniel said quietly, without a trace of the mocking tone that usually entered the voices of people who understood that the name branded her a bastard. "Are you a fellow countryman, Mistress?"

Daine paused for a long moment before answering, staring at his stallion. Numair recognised the intent look that meant she was communicating with the horse and wondered if she hadn't heard. Just when he was about to nudge her she looked up and smiled. "I'm Gallan born, Master Oransra, from Snowsdale."

Seeing Deniel's look of surprise, Numair stepped in. "After Daine's family was murdered by bandits she came to Tortall. This is the first time she has visited since then."

Deniel shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mistress. It seems that bandits are a vermin our quiet village will never be rid of."

"Thank you, but it was a long time ago." She cast an anxious look at Numair before adding, "You should know that I didn't choose to leave, the people ran me out. If you want us to go-"

"Nonsense. You are welcome here unless they ran you out for murder or treason."

Daine smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I've never harmed the crown, but I did kill the bandits who murdered my ma and grandda."

Deniel was shocked into silence. He stared at Daine for a moment, perhaps trying to understand how the slight, beautiful young woman had killed vicious bandits. "In that case you are to be commended," he said eventually. "I'm grateful to anyone who helps lessen the threat against the people of Snowsdale."

Numair released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as Deniel gestured them to follow him inside. An hostler came to take Spots and Cloud away, and Daine had to scold her pony as her ears went flat. For a moment Cloud looked as if she might disobey and take a bite out of the hostler, but then she almost sighed and went to the stables as meekly as she knew how.

They were led into a hall that was welcoming if not grand. Numair was relieved to see that there were no stag heads mounted on the walls, as he had expected there to be in the home of the lord of a mountain village. If there had been it would have been difficult for Daine to disguise her discomfort, and they needed as little trouble as possible during their stay here. Deniel led them to a set of rather threadbare armchairs by an open fire, and called for a servant to bring them food.

Once they had been fed and watered, the lord began to question them about their work in the Tortallan Court and the abilities they possessed as mages. They told him as much as they could without compromising the security of their realm; Galla's allegiances were as yet unknown, and they didn't want to tell Deniel anything that might be harmful if repeated to unfriendly ears. But from the way the young man sat in rapt attention, his eyes alight, drinking in every word, Numair was sure that they had nothing to fear from him. He'd had his title thrust upon him after the unexpected death of his father, and his new responsibilities meant that he had little time to roam the country seeking adventure as most of the male nobility of his age did.

When the time came to leave in search of lodgings for the night, Deniel insisted that they reside in his small castle. He went out of his way to accommodate them, taking note of the food Daine couldn't eat and relaying a message to the cook, and, amazingly in a conservative community, raised no objections at the pair's wish to share a room.

On their way to the dining hall, something in the shadows stirred and began to move towards them. It was a dog, scraggly hair falling in its eyes, that had clearly seen better days. She walked with a limp and her eyes were rheumy. Despite her obvious state of pain, she wagged her tail hard, clearly overjoyed at the approach of her master. Deniel went down on one knee and proceeded to greet her like his oldest and dearest friend. "Hello, old girl," he murmured. "Are you still ailing?"

"What's wrong?" Daine asked quietly, kneeling at his side.

"Shiver's not what she used to be," he replied sadly. "She was a pup when I was a boy; she's getting old."

Frowning, Daine moved forwards and put her hands on Shiver, who accepted her touch eagerly. After a few moments of petting, Shiver stilled and Daine positioned herself next to the dog, eyes closing as her hands slid over her fur. Numair looked through his Gift to see the copper fire twining around Shiver, seeping gently beneath her skin as Daine searched for a way to help her.

"What's she doing?" Deniel asked, clearly confused.

"It is as I explained, Master Onransra," Numair replied softly, not whishing to disturb her while she worked. "She can heal animals." At Deniel's hopeful look he hastened to add, "She can't stop aging or death, just as human healers cannot, but she can take away any unnecessary pain."

Looking at the old, rapidly failing dog, he realised that Daine might be healing for quite some time. He shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders for extra warmth before advising his host that it might be wise to begin dinner without her. Reluctantly, very mindful of the discourtesy of such an act, Deniel complied and they continued on to the dining hall.

Daine appeared almost a candle mark later, a sleepy smile on her face as she fell into the seat next to Numair. He pushed a plate of rolls and cold, sliced meat in front of her before chafing the warms back into her chilled upper arms as Deniel hastened to fill her goblet with wine. "Is everything alright?" He asked, accidentally slopping some of the crimson fluid onto the table.

By way of response she nodded to the doorway, where a very tired Shiver thumped her tail lazily against the floor. From where he sat Numair could see that her coat now had a shine to it, and when she trotted towards the table it was without a limp. She seated herself before her master, clear eyes pleading for food. Daine giggled as Deniel stared in amazement. "You'll need to feed her and then she'll sleep for a few hours," Daine advised. "After that you'll find she has much more energy than usual."

"This is wonderful," he whispered, awe-struck, as he quickly reached for a thick slice of ham to feed to the dog. "A few hours ago-"

Deniel didn't get to finish his sentence because at that moment the door to the dining room was flung open and a man strode inside. Raindrops of a spring shower rolled down his nose and clung to the tips of his graying hair. A servant followed at his heels, scolding quietly and quickly for the intrusion. Daine shuddered lightly and Numair, who had left his arm around her to warm her, instinctually tightened his grip around her shoulders. "What's this?" Deniel asked, rising to his feet.

The man – a priest, Numair guessed from his garb – bowed low to Deniel and said, "I'm sorry for the rude interruption, your Lordship, but only moments ago I received grave news."

Deniel's eyebrow twitched upwards. "Oh?"

"My son, he works in your stables, came home with the news that you have visitors."

"Yes," Deniel smiled and gestured towards his guests. "Master Salmalin and Mistress Sarrasri."

The priest's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "You don't have to introduce me to _her_. I know her well enough already. She's the reason I came – she's a danger to you, Master Onransra." Daine flinched and Numair groped with his free hand, enfolding her chilled fingers in his grasp. At the head of the table Shiver gave a low growl.

Deniel threw an apologetic look at Daine before turning his attention back to the priest. "She doesn't seem to be a danger, Priest Hooper."

"Seem," the priest sneered. "No, she doesn't _seem _to be a danger. To look at her now you would think that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but I know her for what she is: a wicked, mad thing that'll only bring harm to this village."

Numair rose, eyes glittering dangerously, ignoring the small hand on his sleeve that tried to pull him back to his seat. "I will not allow you to insult her," he said, voice clear and cold in the echoing hall.

"And who might you be?" The priest asked, looking supremely unconcerned about the threat in Numair's eyes.

"He is my guest, Hooper," Deniel said before Numair had the chance to answer. Moving around the table, he laid a placating hand on his shoulder and murmured, "I know you wish to defend her honour, but please allow me to deal with him. I assure you I won't allow him to speak ill of her again."

Numair nodded reluctantly, agreeing only because of the silent plea he read in Daine's face, and Deniel turned again to the priest. "Mistress Sarrasri is a guest in my home, Hooper, and I will not have you insult her."

"But she turned wild, she-" the priest sputtered.

"I know of her history in Snowsdale and I set no store by it. She has performed brave deeds in the service of the king of Tortall, and only tonight has done me a great favour."

"But-"

"Remember who you speak to, Hooper," Deniel said coldly, all trace of the friendliness with which he had treated Daine and Numair now gone. "I am you lord. If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head when addressing honored guests then I cannot trust you with a flock. I will be forced to put you to tilling the fields." Seeing the priest open his mouth to retaliate, Deniel added quietly, "Tread carefully."

After a long moment of silence and a hate filled glare at Daine, the furious priest spun on his heels and strode from the hall.

* * *

A draft seeped into the room, chilling Numair's exposed feet. The bed wasn't quite large enough to fit his tall frame and his feet hung off the edge of the mattress, a perfect target for the nipping night air to chill. Grumbling quietly to himself, he curled up into a ball and tucked his feet beneath the blanket. Still not satisfied, he turned, seeking the natural warmth of the woman who lay beside him. As his grasping hand found nothing, his eyes flew open and he was instantly awake. Not only was Daine not there, but the mattress was cold. She had been gone for a long time. 

Sitting up, he flicked his fingers and sent a ball of light into each corner of the room. His feeble hope that she would be sitting in an armchair or staring out of the window faded as he discovered that he was alone. He had thrown the covers away and was striding across the room in an instant. Rummaging through his pack for clothes, he began to list all the places she might be. The most obvious choice was the stables where Cloud and Spots were probably sleeping. The kitchen, where she was sure to find a few mice, was also likely. He was so busy thinking of all the places she might be that it took him a while to realise that his breeches weren't sliding on as easily as they should. Looking down, he discovered that he had tried to put on a pair of Daine's.

Several minutes and a set of appropriately sized clothes later, he found himself inside the stables. With a ball of light in hand, he searched each stall, calling for Daine softly. She clearly wasn't there and, more worryingly, neither was Cloud. Locating Spots, he whispered, "Can you take me to Daine?" The gelding stamped his forepaws on the floor, which Numair took to mean 'yes'. He saddled him quickly and awkwardly, fumbling with unfamiliar straps and ties; unable to bear the length of time it took him, Daine often saddled their mounts and he had gotten out of the habit.

Numair steered Spots out of the stables and then relinquished his hold on the reins, allowing the gelding to trot in whatever direction he wished. The night was eerily still as they left Deniel's grounds; both moon and stars burned coolly in a crisp sky and not even the slightest breeze disturbed his loose strands of hair. As Spots neared the village, Numair began to worry. There was a fear that he had been refusing to acknowledge: what if the priest or one of the other villagers who knew Daine had somehow managed to capture her? The last time they met they had tried to kill her, what would they do now?

But although Spots cut close to the village, he didn't enter it. Instead he climbed a gently sloping hill. Through the gloom Numair could see the remnants of a dirt path that had been reclaimed by grass and the tangled branches of small brushes. They broached the top of the hill and a house – or rather, the _ruin _of a house – came into sight. The upper level was gone completely, destroyed by the ravages of fire and time; the lower level was mostly intact, but scorched and without a roof. With a sinking feeling, Numair realised where they were.

He clambered off Spots, almost tripping over in his haste. The gelding snorted indignantly and trotted away, perhaps in search of some juicy grass. It didn't take Numair long to find Daine; she sat on what had once been her front doorstep, Cloud hovering nearby. She raised miserable eyes to his and smiled weakly. "I wanted to visit where they're buried," she croaked once he sat down next to her.

"I didn't want you to have to do that alone," he said gently, slipping his arm around her and pulling her close.

She laughed, but it was a humorless sound. "I didn't. I-I couldn't remember where I buried them." Turning her face into his shoulder, she sobbed quietly.

"Magelet…" He began, wanting more than anything to comfort her but not knowing how.

"Am I awful?" She asked earnestly, pulling back and staring imploringly up into his eyes. "It hurts, but it doesn't feel like it hurts enough."

Numair wiped away the tears that still lingered on her cheeks and kissed the cold tip of her nose. "Sweet, you don't exactly have a normal family. This place," he gestured to the ruined home and the overgrown garden with a sweep of his arm, "isn't Sarra's final resting place. You have seen for yourself that she is whole and safe and content, even if she's not in this realm. She has your father, her magic and duties as a goddess. And I _know_ that the last thing she wants is for you to grieve forever over her death. She wants you to be as happy as she is – she will tell you as much when she visits at Midsummer."

Daine sighed and rested her forehead against his shoulder, tears abating. Finally she stood and offered her hand to Numair. "Come on," she ordered. "If ma finds out that you let me sit out all night in the cold then she'll have far stronger words for you than wishes for happiness." Grinning, Numair stood and took her hand as they began the search for Spots.


	18. A Working

Just a short fluffy one that I got an urge to write during a re-read of First Test. Hope you like! Expect a longer update soon. Suggestions/requests still appreciated. Thanks to all reviewers of this fic and my other one, Set In Stone.

* * *

With something very close to a snarl, Numair thrust his large feet into a pair of boots and glanced down briefly to make sure that none of his buttons were undone. Of all the Gods-cursed times for a bunch of hooligans that passed for pages to make a racket, they just _had_ to choose this moment. He could have ignored them, he knew, but Daine reminded him with a wicked smile that it was his duty as a teacher to stop the pages in whatever mischief they were working. In his humble opinion, the comforts of life as a teacher were overrated. Life as a battle mage was far simpler; after you had turned someone into a tree, they rarely interrupted you at crucial moments. 

He yanked the door open and strode out into the corridor, following the atrocious noise to its source. To his distinct lack of surprise, he found several pages locked in a brawl that would have impressed even the most hardened of tavern battlers. He opened his mouth to order them to stop, and then decided that that particular method would be too slow. There was no rule against a teacher using their Gift to stop pages from hurting themselves (or each other), and he certainly would be preventing a few black eyes and bruises here.

Twisting his fingers, Numair sent a stream of his glittering black fire at the fighting youngsters. Despite his irritation, he didn't wish to hurt them and so slowed them gradually rather than halting them completely straight away. Fists and feet began to move sluggishly, until eventually they stood frozen, looking up at him in obvious shock and confusion. "So much animosity really will not do," he said far more calmly than he felt. "You've managed to affect my current working – if it were to go astray… Except that it's not going to, because you are going to drop this and go and do whatever it is that pages are supposed to do at this time of night. Run along, please."

Numair frowned. Despite his orders the pages remained where they stood, only staring up at him blankly. Nealan - the boy who had seemed so terribly keen on pleasing Daine at the Midwinter banquet - croaked, "Spell."

"Spell?" He asked, confused for a moment before memory returned. That had completely slipped his mind. Perhaps Daine was right, and he was getting ever more forgetful in what she always impishly called his 'old age'. "Oh, yes, of course. How careless." He lowered his hand and drew back in his Gift, freeing the pages. "_Now_ you may go."

Trusting that _this _time his orders would be obeyed, he didn't stay to watch the pages leave but turned and walked back to his rooms. Closing the door behind him, he let out a sigh of relief at the blessed sound of silence. "I heard that, Master Salmalin," a soft, playful voice remarked. "I'm a 'working' now, am I? If that's my new pet name then you're losing all talent for romance."

Numair allowed himself a long, glorious moment to take in the sight of his lover. Daine leaned against the doorway of their bedroom, loose curls tumbling in front of her sparkling eyes. To his immense disappointment, he saw that she had donned clothes in the time that he was gone. She was swamped in one of his largest shirts, but she hadn't fastened the buttons. Through the gap in the fabric he could see the curve of her breasts, the soft slope of her stomach. Before the interruption, his lips had been firmly attached to the flesh he now only glimpsed, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin and make her shiver; he redoubled his mental cursing of the pages.

"Well," he said slowly, "if I had told Nealan what he had _really_ interrupted, his eyes probably would have popped out of his head."

Daine's eyes twinkled as she said, "I don't know. It might have made his night."

"That, magelet, is exactly what worries me," he growled.

She shook her head. "You shouldn't bear grudges against your students."

"I _don't _bear grudges against my students; I bear grudges against men who can't seem to take their eyes off you."

"You can't blame him for having good taste."

"Daine…" He said sternly, only to trail away as she began to slide the shirt off. She moved agonizingly slowly, first revealing only creamy shoulders and holding the fabric shut tight across her breasts and stomach. Perhaps in response to his pained look, she eventually took pity on him and slipped the shirt off completely. She stood still for a moment, allowing him to absorb the always enticing sight of her wearing only the badger claw and the anti pregnancy charm. Then, grinning wickedly, she blew him a kiss and gestured for him to come closer.

Numair obeyed willingly, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach her. Once she was within arms reach, he lunged to grab her and pull her against him, the taste of her lips already in his mind. But there was a slight movement at her side and suddenly a blur of black fabric burst upwards, flying towards him. The shirt settled over his head, blinding him, and he felt Daine slip by as she danced out of his reach. Groaning, he tore at the fabric. It took him a small eternity to rid himself of the hampering shirt. When he could finally see again, his eyes fell on Daine, who was sauntering leisurely towards their bed.

She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. With a sly smile, she asked, "Aren't you coming?"

Numair cast the shirt aside and it fell to the floor, forgotten. He followed, certain that this time she wouldn't evade him.


	19. Beltane

After this chapter I'll probably be ignoring a large chunk of time and setting everything in the "Lady Knight" timeframe or after. So expect a wedding, pregnancies, etc. Although be warned that I have at least one very depressing chapter planned. Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Although it was only moments after dawn, the palace was in a state of utter chaos. Outside, far enough from the stables so that the smoke and heat wouldn't disturb the horses, several servants hauled branches and logs onto a large pile of firewood. The women – even those who disdained to take part in the various rituals of the day – were all busy donning their finest garments, setting their hair in elaborate fashions and decorating their rooms with flowers. The flowers didn't merely adorn the nobles' living quarters; every corridor in the palace had been consumed by an explosion of colour and scent. It barely seemed possible to move from one room to another without at least one petal attaching itself to hair or sleeves. 

Numair stared down with clear affection at the woman who he considered to be the most beautiful part of the celebrations. For once her hair had been allowed to hang loose around her shoulders, and a single, delicate flower was tucked behind her ear. Her dress was white, the bodice tight fitting and the skirt long and flowing. As they watched the Beltane fire being built, the soft fabric billowed gently in the wind, whispering against her ankles. "You look wondrous, magelet," he bent down to whisper in her ear.

Daine rolled her eyes, but when she looked up at him he saw that she smiled. "So you've told me five times already."

He tried to look offended but failed miserably in the face of her dancing, mischievous eyes. "What, pray tell me, is wrong with letting the woman I love know how truly beautiful she is?" He asked softly.

"I'm only thinking of you, Numair," she said gravely. "The sun is barely in the sky and already you've called me 'wondrous', 'beautiful', 'enchanting', 'stunning' and 'breath-taking'. If you're not careful you'll run out of compliments before nightfall, and then where will you be?" She laughed and easily dodged his playful swat.

Grinning slyly, he darted forwards faster than she expected and grabbed her around the waist. He felt her shiver as her pulled her flush against him. Crouching slightly, he brought his face close to hers and whispered as seductively as he knew how, "I'll just have to find other ways of showing my appreciation." He captured her lips in a kiss, gentle and teasing at first but quickly becoming fiercer as heat built between them. When he realised that both servants and nobles milled nearby and pulled away, Daine sagged against his chest, apparently not trusting her legs to hold her up.

"You _do _look beautiful," he murmured against the top of her head. "Almost as beautiful as I'm certain you will look on our wedding day."

"I still haven't agreed to have you yet," she muttered into his chest.

"And _I_ am still confident that I will wear you down eventually."

"Well you're making a poor start," she said, pulling away and fixing him with a stern gaze. "You promised to tell me about Beltane lore and I've heard nothing yet." Numair flopped onto the damp grass, grabbing her hand to pull her down beside him. Daine shrieked in outrage, her protests soon turning to giggles as he soothed her with another kiss. "I don't remember you always being this silly," she said once the laughter had subsided. "Has being in love done this to you?"

"On the contrary, one of our first conversations involved you marveling at my silliness. Now, if you will refrain from insulting me for a few moments I will tell you everything you could ever wish to know about Beltane lore."

Daine obediently fell silent, regarding him expectantly. Numair couldn't help but smile at her wide eyes and intent expression. He valued every moment spent with Daine, but especially the times when he got the opportunity to teach her something. He adored how she looked at him as if he was the only person in the world, her lips curving into a smile or parting in a soft gasp depending on the content of the lesson. Moments like those were becoming increasingly rare. For better or worse, Daine was no longer the unworldly child of a few years ago. Her knowledge grew daily, and the number of things he could still teach her shrank. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing; for the first time in a very long time Numair was the one learning new things. He listened with rapt attention as she described how a hyena smells the world, or what squirrels like to converse about.

He cleared his throat and began. "One of the traditions of Beltane is that of the May Queen and King.

"The May Queen is normally a young woman, chosen to represent purity and fertility. She is adorned with flowers and leads any and all Beltane celebrations in her village. Although there isn't always a May King, there are various different rituals to choose one. One involves several young men chasing the May Queen through a forest or wood, with the one who catches her becoming the May King. It is hoped that the union of the two will encourage fertility in the land, and good crops at harvest time."

Smiling, Daine said, "I've never heard of that before, but it sounds like a good day for the girl who's picked as May Queen."

Numair nodded. "Although some of the more unreliable accounts state that the May Queen is slaughtered at the end of the day's festivities."

Daine frowned. "I adore you, Master Salmalin, but sometimes you can kill a mood quicker'n blinking."

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I _was_ going to say that you are beautiful enough to be a May Queen, but it doesn't seem entirely appropriate anymore."

"There's that flattery again," she said, fixing him with a mock-stern glare. Something seemed to cross her mind, because at that moment her eyes lit with an impish glow and her lips twitched into a sly smile. "Still," she said slowly, "such lovely compliments can't go unrewarded. Close your eyes and count to ten, and when you open them again you'll get your reward."

Numair wasn't entirely confident that his 'reward' would be pleasant. He was well acquainted with the mischievous look playing over her face, and he most often glimpsed it seconds before the bed covers were yanked off him in the morning. Hoping that it might be too early for Daine to be in the mood to play tricks, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and closed his eyes. Slowly he counted to ten. At 'one' a pair of familiar lips were pressed against his in a brief kiss. His spirits rose and he began to hope that he would receive a similar kiss for every number he counted; but the soft mouth didn't return. When he finished the count he opened his eyes to find that he was alone.

Frowning, he scrambled to his feet and scanned the area. In the distance a white blur with streaming brown hair streaked towards the royal forest. Numair had no idea how she had gotten so far so quickly without transforming but he knew that he had no hope of catching up with her before she entered the forest if he didn't leave now. Once she reached the forest his chances of finding her at all decreased immensely; he could move quietly enough when he wanted to, but Daine hailed from a country of mountains and woods and could move with a much softer foot.

Hoping that none of the pages he taught were near to witness what he was about to do, he loped across the grass towards Daine. Perhaps she sensed that he had begun the chase, because she put on a sudden spurt of speed and slipped into the trees before Numair had even halved the distance between them. He arrived at the edge of the forest grumbling under his breath and slightly winded, for the first time realising how accustomed he had become to sitting in a classroom rather than using his Gift on the battlefield. He pushed past the trees in the same place he thought Daine had entered, looking around for any sign of her.

Daine was nowhere to be seen, but at his feet was a crumpled white dress, devoid of its owner. Numair groaned. Unless Daine had suddenly taken a liking to the natural look this could only mean that she had shifted, which meant that finding her would be almost impossible unless he decided to discard all practicality and use the focus. Out of nowhere inspiration struck; he could communicate with her mind-to-mind when he was in hawk form. Snatching up the dress, he stowed it behind a bush where he hoped it would be safe from the worst ravages of nature, and transformed as quickly as he could without causing pain.

His clothes fell to the floor, empty. Out of the folds of fabric burst a large hawk in an explosion of sleek, black feathers. Numair soared up into the sky, taking the time to enjoy the warm breeze that caressed him before beginning the search for Daine. Unsure of how far away she was, he put the full strength of his mind behind his call of, _Magelet? _

_There's no need to shout, Numair, _she admonished, her voice close.

_Sorry sweet, _he said, ignoring the strangeness of attempting to smile without lips. _I hardly consider this to be a reward, and it is immensely unfair of you to use your magic to hide from me. _

_I'm not the only one using magic, _came the reply.

_You drove me to it, I'm afraid. _

Something brushed his side and an eagle came into his view. As he watched, it turned into a chaffinch. _Show off, _he grumbled, and could hear her chuckle in his mind.

_Anymore talk like that and you won't get your reward. Follow me, _she ordered, suddenly changing direction and diving back towards the ground. Numair obeyed and followed, alighting on the forest floor only moments after Daine. For a short moment he thought that he had lost her again, but then he shifted his gaze and found her. She had landed in a small patch of bluebells and was in the process of shifting back to her normal form. Once she had regained her human shape her eyes fell on him and she smiled invitingly.

Numair, still in hawk form, waddled over to her. She stroked the top of his feathered head lovingly with a forefinger. He resumed his familiar, human shape and caught her hand, pressing a kiss against her palm. "Something isn't quite right," he murmured against her skin. She cocked her head to one side, waiting silently for an explanation. Plucking one of the bluebells from the ground, he slid it behind her ear in place of the flower she had lost during her transformation. "There," he said softly, "every inch the May Queen again."

Smiling coyly, Daine rose onto her knees and wound her arms around his neck. "If I'm the May Queen does that make you the May King?"

"I suppose it does," he said, grinning.

A row of feather light kisses graced his neck, ending with teeth closing softly around his earlobe, sending small shivers racing down his spine. "And didn't you mention something about a union between the May Queen and King to encourage fertility?" She asked.

"Well obviously the union isn't literal, but symbolic. Although some surviving records from the north say-"

Daine groaned and pushed him over into the bluebells.


	20. Haven

I know this isn't how it actually happens, but I wanted to do it this way. Again, thank you to everyone for the reviews.

* * *

Most of the time, Numair loved silence above all other sounds. Silence allowed him to get lost amongst his many books; silence allowed him to conduct the most sensitive of experiments; silence allowed him to study his love's features as she slept peacefully. Although he loved silence, there were some sounds that he adored: Daine's laughter, deep and full in her throat, whispers that should be soft made harsh by passion. Right now, however, it was a noise no human had ever made that set his stomach lurching in sudden, unexpected excitement. An eagle's piercing shriek, almost directly above his head and getting closer by the second. 

He knew he was grinning like a fool as he hastily shed his tunic to wrap it around his arm, but he could no more prevent it than he could stop breathing. There were some nobles who would disapprove of the look of almost boyish delight on the famed battle mage's face, but Numair had nothing to fear from newly made Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan. She seemed to understand that a happy fighter was a good fighter, and wouldn't begrudge any of her people what little joy they could grasp in the midst of a war.

Daine, currently in the form of an eagle, landed on Numair's outstretched arm with enough force to push it down, but not to hurt him. She barely gripped him with her talons, using just enough strength to keep herself balanced. He kissed her beak as tenderly as an instrument designed for killing can be kissed, and said, "So you found me, dear one. I missed you." She began to preen his dark hair with her beak, the only way she could convey affection in this form.

"Welcome to Haven, Daine," Kel said. "Have you any news?" Numair started slightly to hear someone addressing the eagle as Daine. He was so used to people asking with a dumbfounded expression why he was talking to an animal that he had forgotten for a moment that Kel was a friend of Daine's, and no doubt had seen her take various different forms in the past. Daine shook her head and returned her attention to preening his hair.

"Will you excuse us?" Numair asked. "She likes to be private when she changes back to human." Without waiting for an answer from Kel, he turned and walked away, hoping vaguely that she wouldn't think him rude.

He strode quickly up the hill, Daine weighing heavily on his arm. She leaned in and nipped his ear affectionately, not breaking the skin despite her murderous beak. As they neared the room he had been allocated for the duration of his stay at Haven, his heart began to thump in anticipation. After weeks of separation from his lover, after countless nights of wondering whether she was safe, and how and where she was next going to risk her life, she was here, to all appearances whole and unharmed. Although he wouldn't be satisfied on that last point until he had checked every inch of her body and seen for himself that she wasn't hurt.

To his surprise, the load on his arm began to grow lighter. Daine was transforming from eagle to kitten, so small that she could fit into the palm of his hand if she wished. He was about to transfer her from arm to hand when she leaped onto his chest, hooking her small claws into the front of his shirt. She began to transform again, this time taking her human form. "What are you doing?" He demanded in a whisper. They hadn't even reached the shelter of his room yet, and if she transformed she would have no covering. When he met her twinkling eyes they clearly said, _You better hurry then. _

He complied with her silent order and ran the last few feet to his room. They arrived just in time, Numair slamming the door shut on the world behind them as Daine slipped back into her familiar, well loved shape. She wound her legs around his waist and her arms went around his neck, preventing her from slipping to the floor and bringing them wonderfully close together. "What was _that _about?" He asked, hands going to the back of her thighs to help support her weight.

She tilted her head to one side, the impish grin he had missed so much gracing her face. "I just wanted to save time. We're in a war, you know. Every second is vital."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm. What I don't appreciate is half of the camp catching a glimpse of you without clothing."

"You got us here in time," she said, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her fluttering breath against his skin made him shiver, and when her lips found the sensitive area behind his ear he couldn't stop the tremble that ran from the place where her mouth was pressed down to his toes. She pulled back slightly to get a better look at his face. "You're not angry then?" She asked, grinning.

"Well, if that's how you intend to apologise then I'm furious," he replied with an equally devilish smile. By way of response she hid her face in his neck again and continued her ministrations. With a deep groan he hurried towards the bed, almost tripping over as he attempted to kick off his boots whilst moving. Daine laughed and squirmed from his arms to fall onto the mattress, grabbing a fistful of Numair's shirt and pulling him down beside her.

A while later the couple lay side by side in a mess of tangled sheets, Numair's parted lips resting against Daine's hair. It was loose and beautiful for all that it had been battered by wind and Numair's attentions, the darkness of it contrasting starkly against her pale shoulders. He wound the soft curls around his fingers, stroking them gently. Daine roused from her hazy slumber, blinking and yawning. She indulged in a long, luxurious stretch, raising her arms above her head and arching her hips off the mattress. Numair ran a lazy hand over her stomach and said, "If you insist upon looking so inviting we will never get to supper."

She smiled up at him sleepily and in a sudden burst of energy rolled over on top of him, pinning him to the bed. Resting her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and said, "That's fine with me. I'm comfortable where I am." He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, content to remain in place as long as she was. They lay like that for a long while, and Numair thought that she had dozed off until she murmured something. As her face was still buried in his chest, the words were muffled and he didn't quite hear. "What did you say, dearest?" He asked.

The next time she spoke he heard her clearly, but he still blinked stupidly for long seconds, confused. She couldn't possibly have said what he thought she had, could she? No, he had misheard, or perhaps he had fallen asleep without realising. "I'm sorry, I think I misheard you," he said.

"I said, will you marry me?"

Numair paused. "I thought that's what you said." Another pause, this one longer, before he asked hesitantly, "Am I awake?"

Daine laughed, but it betrayed a rare nervousness rather than mirth. "Unless we're having the same dream, you're awake."

"Right," he said slowly. "And you're asking me to…"

"Marry me. It's just that it's been eight years since you first asked me. I know by now that you're not going to decide that you want someone else, and I've always known that you're the only one I want. I don't want to do it straight away, not with the war in full swing, but after things have died down a bit. So, if you still want me, I think I'm ready," she said in a rush. Throughout her small speech she had barely paused to take a breath, as if frightened that if she stopped she wouldn't be able to continue. Now she stopped and sucked in a deep breath, watching Numair anxiously for his reaction.

His face broke out into its largest smile for weeks. He had been trying to persuade Daine to marry him for almost a decade now. At the beginning, during the first few months of their relationship, he had asked almost daily, but when he realised how much it pained her to turn him down each time his proposals became annual. About a year ago he had come to terms with the rather painful fact that he might ask for the rest of his life and never be accepted, but he was willing to sacrifice marriage if it meant making Daine happy. Now, eight years, a war, and several grey hairs after his first proposal, _she _was asking _him_. The shock of it would have been enough to make him fall over had he been standing.

Coming back to reality, he found a pair of worried, grey-blue eyes staring at him intently. "Of course I still want you!" He said. "How could you think otherwise?"

Now Daine's smile matched his as she prepared to fling her arms around his neck. She paused for a moment to ask, "Was that a yes?"

"Yes," he laughed, growing impatient of waiting for her to return her embrace and gathering her to him. "Although it's only right that I ask permission first. Jon and Thayet would like to be asked as well as Alanna and George, although I can't imagine any of them refusing. And it would be more than my life's worth to marry you without consulting Cloud first."

"Aren't you forgetting a couple of people?" Daine asked. Her face was once again pressed against his neck, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Kitten?"

"Well I'm sure she'd like to be asked, but I was talking about my ma and da."

The joy drained from Numair as if someone had doused him with a bucket of icy water. He knew a lot, but how to ask a god and goddess for their daughter's hand in marriage was certainly not amongst his knowledge. In an attempt at reassurance Daine said, "They might not get upset if you didn't ask them, but it's better to be safe than sorry. You know how da likes shooting things."


	21. Surprise

Numair had been looking forward to waking up slowly, to enjoying the increasingly rare feeling of Daine's warm body pressed along the length of his. Instead he woke alone, the sound of violent retching in his ears. Hastily propping himself up on his elbows, he searched the room for the source of the noise. Daine knelt on all fours on the bare wooden floor, heaving into a ceramic bowl. Numair was out of bed and at her side within moments, one hand holding the mass of curly hair out of her face and the other gently rubbing the base of her back.

When her stomach settled she sat back, pressing trembling hands to her streaming eyes while Numair scrambled for a cloth. She accepted it gratefully, burying her face in the soft fabric and moaning gently. "What's the matter, sweet?" He asked, pulling her into the comforting circle of his arms.

"I had the oddest dream last night," Daine mumbled. Numair frowned; that was not the type of answer he had anticipated. "Ma was there, just laughing at me. Mayhap it's her way of telling me to see a healer, though she didn't have to be so rude about it."

"Well Sarra is acquainted with Ganiel and she does watch you. Perhaps she saw that you are ill and asked him to pass along a message," he mused. "Whether the dream has meaning or not, you should see a healer. This is the second morning you've been sick."

"What I don't understand is how I can't keep any food down, but I've put on so much weight that my breeches don't fit anymore," she grumbled, prodding her midriff in irritated disgust. It was true that she had put on weight, but Numair welcomed the slight curve to her stomach. He adored her the way she was, but her thinness sometimes worried him. Although she could claim to have killed more bandits and immortals than most people even see in a lifetime, sometimes he was sure he would snap her slender body if he embraced her too tightly. Of course, he never actually said any of this to her. She would probably call him a dolt and offer to prove just how unlike a dainty lady she was in a competition on the archery range, and he would like to avoid that particular embarrassment.

"You are perfect, magelet," he said, half reassuring and half scolding her for being foolish enough to think otherwise. Daine – currently pale, her hair stuck to the sides of her face in sweaty clumps, and sitting beside a basin of vomit incase her stomach revolted again – raised an eyebrow. This drew a chuckle from Numair and he reluctantly amended, "Perhaps not _quite _perfect at this particular moment, but so close to it that the difference is insignificant."

She thumped him playfully in the shoulder and muttered, "Players."

He pressed his hand to his chest in an almost comical expression of offence. "Despite my astounding good looks," he tossed his hair and Daine snorted, "I assure you that I am a _mage_, not a player."

Daine grinned wickedly and said, "The two are so close that the difference is insignificant." Before he had the chance to retaliate, her face twisted and she was leaning over the basin once again, heaving up what little her body still had to reject. Numair gently caressed her skin, which was unusually hot because of illness or the strain her body was under. By the time she was silent and still once more, he had lost all trace of joviality.

"You must see a healer, and you must see one today," he said sternly. "If I return tonight and find that you haven't I will personally drag you there at the break of dawn tomorrow."

"Don't worry," she grumbled. "I know when I'm beaten. I can't ignore you, ma and the Dream Master. If I do, no doubt the badger will show up to knock some sense into me."

Grinning, Numair helped her to her feet and watched her carefully while she dressed, ready to move in and catch her should she be overcome by weakness. However, she prepared for the day without mishap and, instead of leaving for breakfast together was their custom when stationed at the same fort, Daine protested that her stomach could barely handle a cup of water, and they parted ways at the door of their room.

Thoughts of Daine and her sudden illness were driven to the back of Numair's mind as the day progressed. There was much to do at Fort Mastiff and, although he hadn't been told when and where he was next being moved, no doubt little time to do it in. Spells that he had enacted during his last visit had to be bolstered and improved, and Lord Wyldon seemed to have a never ending supply of new problems for him to deal with. It was only at supper when he searched for Daine and couldn't find her that he remembered the reason for her absence. He crammed the rest of the roll he had been using to mop up the remainder of his stew into his mouth and hurried from the mess hall, murmuring an apology to Duke Baird for his abrupt departure.

When he reached their room he found it dark and empty. Clearly no one had been inside since they had left that morning. He frowned; no doubt Daine was working somewhere in the fort, pushing herself harder than anyone asked or expected. There was no point in finding her and dragging her back. She would scuff her feet and mumble a promise never to overwork herself again, then tomorrow he would find her doing exactly that. After lighting a single candle he kicked off his boots and eased himself onto the bed, propping open the book leant to him by Duke Baird no more than a candle mark ago at supper. His inability to heal had been a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember, but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have a healing Gift and that was that, not even the Great Gods could change it. However, there were things he could do without the aid of magic: stitching a wound, splinting a broken limb, staunching the flow of blood from an injury. These were skills he knew only vaguely, but he hoped Baird's book of basic first aid would change that.

As always, he lost himself amongst yellowed pages and a torrent of words. By the time the door swung open and Daine slunk inside, the sky was completely dark, the candle had burned down two and a half marks, and Numair knew how to break a fever without the use of magic. "Hello, dearest," he said as he set aside the book, his earlier irritation with her for overworking herself now quite evaporated at the sight of her. Time with Daine was precious these days, and he had no wish to waste any of it being annoyed.

Instead of responding, Daine sank onto the end of the bed, staring off into the gloom untouched by the small candle flame. Worry began to twist Numair's stomach into a knot. When she worked too hard she went to great lengths to hide it from him, wanting to avoid concerning him and the tongue lashing she knew she would get. So why was she acting strangely now? Had she worked herself so hard that she couldn't possibly hide it, or had the healer given her bad news? On hands and knees he crawled to the place she sat and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

A small sniff was his only answer. "Daine," he said, sliding long fingers beneath her chin to turn her head towards him. Her eyes glistened softly with tears, and she shut them quickly rather than let them spill. Numair's stomach gave another unpleasant lurch. He didn't know what had happened, but it must have been awful to move her to tears. "What's wrong?" He persisted.

Daine shook her head and whispered, "I don't know how it happened."

"How _what _happened?"

"I lost it."

Numair frowned. "Lost _what_? You're beginning to scare me, Daine. Please tell me what has upset you."

"I lost-" she broke off, closing her eyes again and taking a deep breath. When she began to speak her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it. "I lost my anti pregnancy charm."

He opened his mouth to ask what the loss of her charm had to do with her current illness and state of distress, but before he could utter so much as a syllable, realization flickered and roared into life in his mind. Numair didn't congratulate his fiancée. He didn't yelp in excitement or shock. Instead he slipped off the bed in a dead faint.

When Numair next woke, he was greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. He knew others were nearby; people spoke in soft voices and there was a familiar, comforting presence at his side, which he knew without looking was Daine. It took him only a moment to realise that she was one of the people speaking, and identified the other voice as belonging to Duke Baird. If the chief healer was here then he must be in the small, wooden cabin set aside for use as an infirmary.

With a groan he sat up, only to fall back against his pillow as dizziness overcame him. Two indistinct lumps appeared in his blurred vision. When the world righted itself again, he realised that they were the concerned faces of Daine and Baird. "Is it not enough for you to risk life and limb in battle? You have to swoon off beds too?" Baird scolded. "Only a few hours ago I told your fiancée that she needed rest above all else. Rest does _not _include carrying a lanky mage around a fort."

Numair was no longer sure who was being told off, him or Daine. He tried to rise again and was instantly pushed back down onto the thin mattress by two pairs of hands. "Sorry," he groaned. "What happened?"

"I told you I'm pregnant and you fainted," Daine said with a weak smile. "It wasn't exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"I should think not," Baird said stiffly. "If you had just fainted you wouldn't have required too much healing, but you received a nasty crack on the head when you fell. You must stay in bed for the rest of tonight and tomorrow, and do not use magic unless it is absolutely necessary." He sighed and glanced towards Daine. "You have my permission to strap him down if he tries to overwork himself."

"He will try," Daine said, flopping down into a chair that Numair noticed was far away from his bed.

"The same goes for you, Veralidaine," Baird said sternly. "Rest and nothing but. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like at least an hour of sleep tonight." He waved aside Daine's apologies for disturbing him at the late hour and left, pausing at the door to warn the couple again of the dire consequences if they should attempt to do anything that required more effort than walking.

Numair and Daine were left in silence. He shifted over to create some space on the bed and gestured for her to sit next to him. She did so somewhat reluctantly, and when she leaned into him her body was unusually tense. "What's wrong, sweet?" He asked gently. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

After a slight hesitation she said in a small voice, "You haven't said how you feel yet."

"How I feel?"

She glared at him. "About the baby!"

Numair's face broke out into a large smile. "I'm thrilled!"

"Really?" She asked, disbelief in her eyes.

"Of course! Do you really think I feel differently?" 

"Well, you _did _faint," she said. "People don't normally faint because they're happy."

He kissed the top of her head. "You know how I love to be contrary. It was a shock, but I promise you that I couldn't be happier."

With a relieved sigh, she finally relaxed against him. "I thought…" She shook her head. "Never mind what I thought. I'm just glad you're alright. I don't think I could cope with being pregnant and fighting Scanrans if you weren't happy."

Numair paled. How on earth was he supposed to tell Daine that she couldn't fight in the war anymore?


	22. Pregnancy

A little different from the other chapters. A series of events from Daine's pregnancy. This was a question I meant to answer at the start of the last chapter, but I completely forgot about it. Unfortunately, I haven't read Trickster's Choice or Trickster's Queen so I won't be writing about anything that happens in them.

* * *

Numair held her slender, work callused hand in the palm of his. Carefully, almost afraid that she might change her mind and scream for one of the nearby animals to carry her away, he slid the simple gold band onto her finger. There was no disaster. She didn't pull away in disgust or try to flee. The only sign that anything had changed was the smile that played around the corners of her mouth, and the increased hammering of his heart as her dancing eyes rose to meet his.

Daine was beautiful in a simple white dress. They were surrounded by the friends who could make it to Fort Mastiff for the day, as well as animals that had been welcomed indoors for the event. This wasn't the wedding that Numair had wanted for Daine. He had wanted a large celebration, his new wife happy in the midst of all the people who loved her. But they had been forced to hurry things along because of the baby, and Daine assured him that she would rather get married while she could still fit into a dress than wait until they could return to Corus.

The aged priest took each of their hands and held them in his trembling grasp. After murmuring a blessing, he announced that they were now married. The applause from their small crowd of friends was tumultuous, and Numair found himself wondering briefly how so few people could make so much noise. Then someone – he guessed it was Onua, who had travelled day and night to be here – elbowed him in the ribs and reminded him that he was supposed to kiss his new bride. He complied with gusto, wrapping his arms around Daine and actually lifting her off her feet to smother her laughter with a tender kiss.

As soon as she was safely back on the floor, what seemed like a hundred fists pounded him on the back as voices shouted their congratulations. Beside him Daine was being hugged by her friends, with even the normally reserved Kel pulling her into a fierce embrace. After a few moments of this she pushed through the crowd that had assembled around her, and, with a little help from Kel, managed to clamber onto a stool. Everyone fell silent, waiting for her to speak.

"Thank you all for being here, especially those of you who had to travel far," she said, addressing this to Onua in particular.

Onua grinned and said, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

Everyone, including Numair, laughed as Daine glared at her friend. Ignoring this remark, she continued, "As much as I love seeing you all, I'm afraid that we're about to disappear." She paused a moment to wait for the groans – some playful, some serious – to die down. Once she had silence again she said, "As most of you are aware, I'm returning to Corus tomorrow. Seeing as I'm going to be separated from my new husband for months, I have to make the most of my wedding night."

"Daine!" Numair cried in horror, a magnificent blush blooming over his cheeks as the room erupted in laughter and cat calls.

"What?" She asked innocently. "I'm _pregnant_, Numair. I think most folk have guessed about the canoodling."

* * *

"Daine, sweet, if you would just-"

"No."

"But you-"

"_No!_"

Numair sighed and backed away from the bedroom door, flopping down into a nearby armchair. With a month to go until the baby was due to be born, he had finally been permitted to return to Corus to care for his wife during what he had been told was a 'difficult' pregnancy. Exactly how it was difficult he hadn't been told, and it was beginning to seem like he would never find out as Daine was refusing to leave the bedroom or let him inside.

Was she annoyed with him for staying away from the capital for so long? That they hadn't seen each other since their wedding night had been a constant source of pain for Numair, stationed up in the north. He had apologised numerous times, sending her letters and small trinkets he knew she would appreciate, and her replies had always told him not to be ridiculous; she knew well the demands of war. The destruction of Blayce and his metal monstrosities had almost certainly doomed the Scanrans, but, knowing of their looming defeat, they fought ever more ferociously, seemingly determined to cause as much damage as possible before the Tortallan victory. Numair was still needed in battle, and Daine knew this.

Perhaps he had overestimated the limits of her understanding. She had a right to be furious, of course. Most women would be, abandoned by their husband during a difficult (and when was he doing to find out what on earth 'difficult' meant?) pregnancy, with no friends and only trainee healers to keep her company. Given a few days and a lot of grovelling, perhaps she would forgive him. Until then he would just have to be patient. This, however, was easier said than done; he had missed Daine desperately, and the only thing that had sustained him through the long months of separation and the awful journey to Corus was the thought of pulling her into his arms and covering every inch of her with kisses.

The door swung open, its neglected hinges protesting with a screech. Daine emerged into the sitting room, swiping absently at a curl that had fought loose of its pins to fall into her eyes. She was dressed in a flowing skirt and one of Numair's shirts that would have fallen to her knees a few months ago, but was now stretched tightly across her full belly. Numair couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips; she was beautiful, for all that she wore the expression of a lion with a thorn in its paw. He said nothing, bracing himself for the stream of insults and angry recriminations she was sure to throw at him.

She threw back her head and wailed, "I'm huge!"

This came as such a surprise that for a moment Numair was too stunned to say anything. Of all the things he had expected her to say, of all the reasons why she would lock him out of their bedroom, this was one he hadn't anticipated. As soon as her words sank in, he leapt from his seat and attempted to pull her into an embrace, only to discover that he couldn't quite wrap his arms around her. Before the cry of dismay had a chance to leave her lips, he changed position, standing behind her and pulling her back against his chest as his arms went around her shoulders. "_Pregnant, _love," he said. "You're pregnant. You must understand that your body has to change to accommodate the baby."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled. "You just have to read about it. You don't have to get fat and ugly."

"Daine," he growled warningly, "you are neither of those things. You." He kissed the nape of her neck "Are." A kiss for her cheek. "Beautiful." He slid a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up and to the side. Leaning down, his lips landed firmly on hers and his arms tightened around her. After he was convinced that she had forgiven him for his absence and loved him as fervently as ever, he teased her gently, brushing her lips lightly and pulling back before returning. When she began to make small mewls of protest, he parted her lips with his tongue and caressed her, trying to convey how much he had missed and longed for her over the past few months.

By the time they broke apart Numair's knees were weak, both from the intensity of their embrace and because he was now supporting Daine's weight as she sagged against him. He buried his face against her neck, muffling the sound of his ragged breathing and kissing as much exposed flesh as he could reach. "Now do you believe that you are beautiful?" He asked between kisses.

"Hmmm?" She said absently, cocking her head to one side to allow him greater access.

"I asked if you now believe that you are beautiful," he said, straightening out of his bent position and grinning at her cry of indignation that he had suddenly ceased his affections.

"Not quite yet. I think I need more convincing."

"I am only too happy to oblige," he said before hooking his arms beneath hers and dragging her backwards towards the bedroom. She shrieked in surprise and dissolved into giggles. Several minutes later Numair lay next to Daine, lavishing attention on any part of her that his lips could reach. She sighed suddenly and caught hold of his shoulders, pushing him away. "What's wrong, magelet?" He asked, voice full of concern. Had she finally remembered to be angry with him for leaving her alone?

By way of reply she pointed at her legs. Only when Numair looked, they weren't Daine's legs any more. They were a pair of horse's legs, complete with hooves. He yelped and wobbled precariously on the edge of the bed, saved from toppling to the floor only by Daine grabbing a fistful of his shirt. As quickly as they had appeared the horse's lower quarters melted away, to be replaced by her normal legs. "Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith! Wh-what – You – Why -" Numair sputtered.

Daine frowned. "It's been a difficult pregnancy."

* * *

A week before the baby was due, a loud knock at the door roused Numair from his fitful slumber. He winced as he rose from the bed, knowing without having to look that his lower back and legs were a mass of bruises. Sleeping at the side of a woman whose lower half changed from wolf, to horse, to lion throughout the night wasn't exactly without hazards. Daine had told him that they could sleep separately if he wished, but he declined the offer. If the constant changes discomforted him, it was nothing compared to what they did to her. He refused to leave her alone to weep tears of exhaustion and distress, even if it was for just a few hours.

Perhaps he should inquire about some padded clothes? Something like the fighters who disdained to wear a full suit of heavy armour donned to go into battle. Pondering this possibility, he quickly dressed and stumbled to the door before the early morning visitor woke Daine. In the hallway he found Alanna and George, both tired and dirty from the road but grinning. With a startled cry of happiness he hugged his friends and ushered them inside, motioning for them to be quiet while he shut the door to the bedroom where Daine still slept.

"What are you two doing here?" Numair whispered. Turning to Alanna he said, "I thought you were still stationed near the border.

"I was, but – Sorry!" Alanna said, dropping her voice to a low murmur when Numair winced and glanced towards the bedroom door. "Daine's mother seemed determined that I should be in Corus for the birth."

"Daine's mother?" Numair asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She is the Green Lady, isn't she?" At Numair's nod she said, "She kept appearing in my dreams and saying that her daughter needed me at the palace. She didn't seem like the type of woman to take too kindly to her orders being disobeyed."


	23. New

I apologise profusely for the enormous delay in updates. Thanks to uni and so many personal problems I've lost count, I haven't had time to write and I've been too grumpy to do it when I have had the opportunity. Thank you to anyone who has been patient enough to stick with me. This one is short and (hopefully) sweet, hope you like!

* * *

Numair hardly dared to breathe. Daine lay in a deep slumber at his side, her face creased in lines of exhaustion even during sleep. It had been a long, difficult day for her, and the healers had been adamant that she needed to rest before attempting to leave the infirmary. Not wanting to leave her even for a moment, Numair had opted to lie next to her on the narrow hospital bed, murmuring soothing words until her eyes flickered shut and her breathing became deep and even.

The second reason Numair was afraid to move or make noise stirred and uttered a small cry. He was off the bed and beside his daughter's cot in an instant, but his hands froze as he reached for her. He hadn't held his daughter once during her short life. She has been in the healer's arms, then Daine's, then Alanna's while he laughed his relief and clung to George's shoulders to remain upright. Before he knew it she was asleep in her cot, and he dared not disturb her.

Now he was suddenly terrified. No one had ever discussed with him the correct way to hold a baby, how to arrange her tiny arms and legs so that he wouldn't hurt her. But he had to pick her up, try and comfort her, or she would wake Daine. The baby's cries grew louder and, without allowing himself time to worry, he swooped down and picked her up with trembling but gentle hands. She was dwarfed in his arms, a warm bundle of humanity lost in a sea of dark robes. Her eyes, scrunched up with the effort of crying, flew open as her father's long fingers stroked her cheek.

As her wide eyes sought and found his, the corners of Numair's mouth tugged up irresistibly into a smile. They were precisely the same shade as Daine's. Would they stay that same colour, he wondered, or would they change over time? He hoped that they would stay the same, and that the light halo of fluff surrounding her head would grow into Daine's long, dark curls. He couldn't imagine anything more wonderful – or worrisome – than having a little Wild Mage scampering about their rooms, laughing with Daine's laugh and ruining his most sensitive experiments.

A shriek at the door, and Numair tore his gaze away from his baby daughter. A very disgruntled, scarlet scaled Kitten was attempting to force her way past a harassed looking healer who clearly thought that dragons weren't appropriate visitors in an infirmary. "It's alright," Numair whispered, casting an anxious look at Daine to make sure she hadn't stirred. "She's family." It seemed incredible to him that there were still people in the palace who didn't know that Daine was the adoptive mother of a dragonet, but the newest healers were fresh out of the university. Many of the more experienced mages had been called to the northern border to attend those wounded in the war.

Kitten trotted towards the new parents, her scaled fading to their usual blue now that she knew she would be allowed to see Daine. Numair knew how hard the separation had been on the two. Daine had tried to hide it from him during the rare occasions they had had time together, but he could tell without having to ask that she had missed the dragonet desperately. Kitten was still only a baby and the war was dangerous; unless she was needed, Daine had wanted her to remain in Corus, in the safety of the palace.

Leaping up onto a nearby chair, Kitten peered inquisitively at the new baby cradled in Numair's arms. He braced himself for the wail of terror that was sure to come, but the baby didn't let out so much as a whimper. Instead her face screwed up in concentration, and the skin around her eyes turned the same shade of blue as Kitten's scales. Now it was Numair's turn to be terrified as he was faced with the prospect of his hours old daughter turning into a dragon and not being able to change back. Even if Daine didn't slaughter him, he would still have the divine grandparents to worry about. But after a few moments her skin resumed its normal colour and she sagged, clearly too worn out from being born to shape change.

"This is your sister," Numair murmured, bending his long legs so that Kitten could get a better look. She flushed with pleasure at being included in the family in such a way. She chirped happily and pressed her snout to the baby's forehead with a gentleness that Numair hadn't known she possessed.

"Numair?" Daine's voice was barely there, and the exhaustion in it was clear. Numair turned, frowning, and walked towards her as fast as he dared, fearful of jostling the baby. "I'm sorry, dearest," he said, his voice low even though there was no longer a need for it. "I was trying not to wake you."

Daine shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Now I'm awake I can see my girl. Girls," she amended as Kitten hopped up onto the bed to sit next to her. Kitten trilled happily and rested her head on Daine's shoulder as Numair placed the baby in her arms. Smiling, Daine stroked the cheek of her now slumbering daughter with her fingertips. "I love you," she whispered to the baby. "I only hope I love you half as much when you're awake."

Numair laughed quietly and joined his family on the bed.


	24. Birthday

This is a chapter about how Daine and Numair are doing as a family with a little bit about the state of Tortall after the war with Scanra. The next chapter will be skipping forwards a few years unless anyone has a specific request. Thank you so much for the feedback!

* * *

Tonight had been special. A large group of Carthaki clerks and nobles, including the emperor and empress, had arrived for a round of trade negotiations. As the relations between Carthak and Tortall had warmed considerably since Ozorne's demise, it had been a highly anticipated visit and the palace chefs had outdone themselves. Everyone had had at least two helpings of everything on offer, with the exception of Daine who had avoided the game dishes. Not only that, it was Kally's first visit home since her marriage to Kaddar, and her family – both blood and adopted – had been ecstatic to see her after such a long absence. Thayet had been close by her side all night, smiling brilliantly. Numair thought that seeing Kally safe and happy would go a long way to mending the breach between Thayet and Jon; she had been furious with him ever since he had agreed to an arranged marriage for their daughter.

One of the members of the Carthaki entourage had come as a surprise. Varice Kingsford had swept into the palace amongst politicians and clerks, as lovely as ever in pink silk. As her official role in Carthak was chief caterer, Numair hadn't expected her to attend the conference as the food would be provided by the hosts. But her husband, Numair had discovered to his surprise, was one of Kaddar's most trusted advisors. The meeting between Numair's former lover and his wife had been unpleasant to say the least (both women had been cordial enough, but each spoke with an icy tone), but thankfully brief.

The main reason that tonight was special to Numair and Daine was that it was Sarra's third birthday. She had been showered with presents, first by her parents and then by her many adopted aunts and uncles. A large parcel of gifts had arrived from Tyra from her doting grandparents, and the People had been offering their presents all day – from fruit to interestingly shaped stones. The best part of the day for Sarra had been attending her first ball and banquet, and being adored by all present. With her head of brown curls and wide, blue-grey eyes most people found it difficult not to love her.

In truth, Numair felt cheated. He had hardly had a minute alone with Sarra all evening. That's why, as the dancing began and the feasters were distracted, he had gathered his sleepy daughter up in his arms and snuck out into the gardens. Quite typically, the moment they were alone together she had fallen asleep. She lay sprawled across his lap, her dress rustling slightly in the breeze. It was a beautiful garment of delicate blue silk, the type of thing that he and Daine wouldn't normally let her anywhere near for fear of damaging it. But it had been her birthday gift from Thayet and Jon, and it seemed silly not to let her wear it to the festivities.

"I was going to teach you about the constellations," he said ruefully, his voice barely above a whisper so that he didn't disturb Sarralyn. "The Cat, the Hunter, the Dragon: they all have their own stories. Some scholars believe that you can trace the histories of heroes and heroines in the stars, although others dispute-"

"You _do _know that she's asleep, don't you?"

Numair had had no inkling that they were no longer alone. He hadn't heard Daine's footsteps as she approached them across the grass, nor her soft chuckle when she realised what he was doing. When her whisper came at his ear, he started so hard that Sarra let out a grumble of complaint before rolling over and falling back to sleep instantly. Kitten chortled quietly while Numair smoothed his ruffled hair, pushing back the strands of hair that had escaped his horsetail when he had jumped. "I know she is asleep," he murmured. "I was merely telling her what I intended to tell her before she fell asleep."

"You'll have plenty of time to tell her next week when we go to the Tower," Daine said, settling herself next to him and sliding beneath his arm. "The view there's better, anyway. The light from the palace and the city gets in the way here."

This drew a wide smile from Numair. Although the Tower was officially their home, they seemed to spend most of their time at the palace, training pages and responding to whatever emergencies required their attention. It had been so long since their last visit home that Numair wasn't entirely sure that Sarralyn would remember it. With one war practically following on the heels of another, they had been needed in the capital or in various other parts of the country to help in whatever way they could. Recovery was long and difficult: loss of life meant that there had been fewer people to work the fields, and there had been a famine in the north. Families that had just begun to recover from the Immortals War had been ripped apart for a second time by Scanran invaders. Gold reserves had been drained considerably to sustain the war effort, and when the fighting ended there was little left for reconstruction. Finally, things were getting better, and Daine and Numair had been given some time to spend as a family away from Corus.

"You might want to delay the astrology lesson for a while. A few months at least," Daine said, wearing a small, slightly secretive smile.

Numair frowned. "Why ever should I do that, dearest? You said yourself that the view at the Tower is much better than here. If I wait for a few months we will be back in Corus."

"It'll save you from having to do it twice."

Feeling slightly out of the loop, Numair said, "Why would I have to do it twice? Unless Sarralyn wants to hear it again, which, if she is anything like her mother, I very much doubt."

She thumped him on the arm lightly. "You know I'm interested in whatever you have to tell me, I just get bored when you start listing books and scholars. But I'm guessing you'll want to teach your other child, too."

"But we only have-" He broke off, realisation dawning, and stared at Daine in amazement. Slowly, he reached out and placed his hand on her abdomen. If he hadn't have been looking for it he wouldn't have noticed the gentle curve he had found there. This was something he had never felt before; the first time Daine had been pregnant they hadn't realised until she could no longer fit into her breeches. "You're pregnant," he said as he gently stroked the arch.

Daine's soft lips stretched into a wide smile, and she covered the hand that caressed her with one of her own. "I'm pregnant," she confirmed. "I've suspected for a few weeks, and the healer confirmed it today. I haven't changed shape. The baby will stay human inside me; although as for what happens after birth I can't say."

"Our child will be perfect," Numair said, leaning in to kiss Daine. "Just like our daughter."

Sarralyn obliged by waking up with a start, blinking confusedly at her surroundings for a few moments, and then vomiting up all of the chocolates and sweets that her adopted aunts and uncles had been sneaking into her pockets all day.


	25. Childhood

**Summary: **Something slightly different. Three short oneshots of moments from Rikash and Sarralyn's childhood. Expect either a special or sad chapter next.

* * *

Numair watched Daine bite her lips as she gazed down at their newborn son. An extremely excitable Sarra and Kitten had just collapsed onto the formers bed after having maintained a night long vigil over their new brother. The little girl hadn't wanted to leave Daine's bedside, but she eventually succumbed to sleep at the bottom of her parents' bed. Numair had gently picked her up and tucked her into her own bed, and Kitten, who tended to follow Sarra wherever she went, had opted to join her there.

The reason for Daine's apprehension wouldn't have been apparent to everyone. She'd had none of the complications during pregnancy of the type she had experienced when carrying Sarralyn. The birth had been as smooth as anyone could have hoped for, and the baby was completely healthy. Not only that, Numair had hardly had to reach out with his power to feel the magnitude of the child's Gift.

Daine was currently gnawing on her bottom lip and frowning because of the issue of the baby's name. She'd had one in mind ever since discovering that she was carrying a boy, and had spent weeks announcing that she had settled on it only to change her mind again a few hours later. "He'd laugh at me if he knew I was thinking of naming our son after him," she murmured, a point she had made many times before.

"Sweet, when have you ever let what other people think stop you?" asked Numair. Daine jerked her head non committaly. "Well," he continued, a smile curving his lips, "if you have decided against that name, I have another in mind."

"Really?" She looked up, something close to relief in her eyes.

"Yes, there is a famous scholar I admire greatly – Bermardus Smythe."

Daine grimaced. "Rikash it is."

* * *

After eight years of being a parent, Numair liked to think that he could smell trouble, and today the air was thick with it. The tower was unusually quiet. Daine had disappeared as soon as the sun rose, mumbling something about an injured fox, leaving him to take care of the children. They had slunk off into the shadows with their uncle George, wearing worryingly sly smiles, and he hadn't had a glimpse of the three of them since. He suspected that the whole thing was a ploy to lure him out of his study, where he had been pouring over ancient manuscripts since their arrival a week before.

Venturing from his study, he blinked blearily against the bright sunlight flooding into the corridor. "Sarra?" he called tentatively. "Rikash? George, I hope for your sake that you are not corrupting my children!" He poked his head into the children's bedrooms, frowning when he found them empty even though it was what he had expected.

After searching the tower, he decided that the three of them had probably gone outside to enjoy the summer sun. Perhaps Sarra was introducing George to her animal friends, as she had promised him she would do the previous night. No sooner had Numair set a foot outside the tower than there was a loud _bang! _and his head was suddenly drenched in icy water. While he coughed and spluttered, wiping his soaked face with his sleeve, five figures tumbled out from their hiding place behind a bush, laughing uproariously.

"Sorry, my love," Daine grinned, hurrying forwards with Kitten at her heels. "Me and the children decided it was time to get you out of that study."

"And you couldn't possibly have thought of another way of doing it?" With a mischievous smile of his own, he pulled Daine into a rather soggy hug. She squealed in protest and attempted to squirm away, but he tightened his grip and held her fast against him.

"Less of that around your guests and children," George ordered sternly, although there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Young Rikash wanted to stretch his Gift."

Numair looked over the top of Daine's head, seeking his son. While George and Sarra wore the same amused look as Daine, Rikash's face was alight with fierce pride that his spell had been a success. Putting aside his slightly ruffled pride at his soaking, Numair went to congratulate the boy. There would be plenty of time for lectures about improper uses of magic later.

* * *

It was around dusk when Numair found Rikash. The nine-year-old had been missing for the better part of the day, and a search of all his usual haunts hadn't revealed him. Surprisingly, when Numair did finally track him down he was in the stables. Rikash had a healthy respect for animals but he lacked the special bond they shared with his mother and sister, and whenever possible he avoided them. So why was he attempting to groom one of the most contrary looking horses in the stalls?

Numair was about to warn his son of possible danger when another figure approached. Sarra, clad in the casual gear she donned to go riding. Although she was three years his senior, she was less than an inch taller than Rikash, who had inherited his father's height. She snorted as she saw the brush in his hand. "Don't tell me you're going to try and groom her. She'll take your hand off."

Rikash dropped the brush as if it had scorched him. "I wasn't going to do anything," he snapped.

Sarra looked at him strangely before approaching the contrary horse and stroking her gently. She murmured to her in a voice too low for Numair to hear. Once she had finished, she turned to Rikash and asked, "Why did you want to groom her, anyway? I thought you hated horses."

"You better not have told mother that," he replied hotly. There was a slight pause, during which Sarra stared at him in wide-eyed confusion, before he said in a rush, "It's bad enough as it is, her spending all her time with you because you both like these beasts."

"Don't talk about them like that," Sarra cautioned. She frowned for a moment, thinking, before holding up a hand for silence and turning to stare at the horse. Numair knew that look well, had seen it thousands of times over the years when Daine silently conversed with her friends. After a minute Sarra stepped back and retrieved the discarded brush, handing it to her brother. "There," she announced. "She'll let you groom her now. Although I better show you how."


	26. Gone

**Summary: **A response to **Lady Knight 1512's** request for Daine and Numair to have a fight. I'm not sure how good a fight this is, but here it is anyway. Set during the Protector of the Small quartet, with Daine aged 21 or 22. Please excuse any timeline errors (I'm not sure whether they're meant to be on Progress during this time).

* * *

The word spread through Pirate's Swoop like wild fire: do not approach or in any way antagonise Master Numair. The servants whispered amongst themselves that they would be wise not to even look strangely at the black robe mage if they valued their leaf-free limbs. The only person brave – or foolish – enough to speak to him was the Lady of Pirate's Swoop herself. She followed him as he strode down the corridor, almost trotting to keep up with the pace of his long legs. 

The bandits struck the village at noon. They must have been desperate to launch such an attack with the Lioness, a black robe mage and the Wildmage in residence, as well as the Swoop's formidable Baron. They should have been captured and imprisoned within minutes of the start of the confrontation. Instead, every single one of them had been killed. The reason for this needless death was Daine, the Wildmage. She never should have participated in the battle. There was very little magic left in her after a morning spent healing her pony, Cloud, and her bow was useless at close range. Nevertheless, she had dived into the fight and almost died on the point of a bandit's battered dagger. In a moment of panic, Numair had lashed out with his magic, incinerating all those who posed a danger to his beloved.

It wasn't the death of the bandits that weighed on the mage's conscience; he had seen too many murders committed by their hands. It was how close Daine had come to death, and the cold hatred he had seen on her face during battle, that troubled him. After eight years together, three as her teacher and friend and five as her lover, he was well aware that she would give her life for Tortall if that was what was required of her, and so would he. But this was different. She had knowingly put her life in danger when there was absolutely no reason for it.

"Think about what you say, Numair," Alanna cautioned, "and don't be too hard on her. She's still weak from the blood loss."

"And whose fault is that?" Numair snapped.

"Biting her head off won't change what happened."

"But it will stop her from repeating the incident in the future," he retorted.

Giving up, Alanna rolled her eyes and turned to hurry back to the entrance of the castle. No doubt if she allowed Numair to speak to Daine in the state he was in she would be mopping up tears later on, but she had to see to the minor injuries inflicted on the villagers during the attack. Numair would calm down in time, and no doubt Daine would forgive him for whatever he said while upset.

Numair reached the room that served as their bedroom for the duration of their stay at the Swoop and shoved the doors open. Daine sat fully dressed on their bed, absently petting Kitten while she stared out of the window. _"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" _Numair demanded furiously. Slowly she turned to face him, the strangest look in her eyes; it was as if she couldn't see him although he stood directly in front of her. After a long moment of silence she shrugged and turned her gaze back to the window.

Colour rose in Numair's cheeks. She had almost been murdered before his eyes and her best explanation was a shrug? Trying to breathe calmly, he moved to stand in front of her, blocking her view of the window. It didn't seem to matter; her gaze didn't budge. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you fight when you knew that you had no way of defending yourself?" Long moments passed. "_Answer me!_" he demanded. "You almost died today, and more than ten men were killed needlessly because of your thoughtlessness."

Her eyes snapped up to lock onto his. "Are you calling me a murderer?" she whispered.

"No, I-"

"I'm already a freak and a bastard, why not add murderer to the list?" she asked in a worryingly calm voice as she rose to her feet.

"I have _never-_"

"You've never what? Called me a murderer? You just did."

Numair placed one firm hand on her shoulder and the other beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her eyes were stony, the emotion behind them impenetrable. "I did _not _call you a murdered. I merely want an explanation for why you ran into battle with your magic-"

"My magic?" she interrupted in a whisper. "You want to know why I ran into battle with my useless magic?" Numair opened his mouth to say that her magic was anything but useless, but the fierce look she fixed him with seemed to freeze his tongue. "I'm sorry I'm not like _you_, oh mighty master mage. I wasn't good enough for ma, either. You're right, I can't save people when it counts so perhaps I am a murderer."

"That must make me a murderer too. I have no healing Gift," Numair said, but Daine didn't seem to hear him. She squirmed out of his grasp and turned away, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. Several times he tried to reach out to her only for her to jerk away from his touch. Eventually, in frustration, he shouted, "You are being completely unreasonable! I never would have imagined such childish behaviour from you!"

She spun around to face him, her lips silently forming the words he had just thrown at her. A large part of Numair wanted to apologise, but something held him back. He had done nothing wrong. It was Daine who had foolishly risked her life, Daine who had snapped at him, and now it was Daine acting irrationally and starting an argument. "Useless and childish," Daine said in a small, flat voice. "Clearly I'm not wanted here. I'll find somewhere where I'm not a burden." With that, she ran from the room, leaving a confused Numair to puzzle over her behaviour.

That night passed excruciatingly slowly. Daine didn't return to their room and Numair didn't look for her. Instead he picked up one book after another, trying to interest himself in their contents and tossing each aside as he realised that it was impossible. He reorganised his files, cleaned his portable writing desk, and scoured the fire place with his Gift once he realised that he had run out of things to keep himself occupied. Kitten, unusually sombre, watched all of this from her place at the end of their bed. Her scales were black, darker than Numair had ever seen them before. If it had been any other time he would have been interested in the change and its cause.

When the sun rose, bringing with it no sign of Daine, he realised that he couldn't bear to wait for her any longer. The temptation to talk to the sea dwellers near the castle may have proved too much, and the exhaustion of doing so after a magical drain could have caused a collapsed. Pulling on a light cloak, he crept from the castle as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake the family or the servants.

Numair didn't have to go as far as the sea. A lantern flickered in the door of the small stable. He almost returned to their room (if Daine was talking with Cloud and the other horses, she certainly didn't need rescuing), but as he turned to leave a strange sound reached his ears. He had never heard anything like it in his life; it sounded like the whimpering of a wounded or dying animal. Daine was probably trying to heal an injured friend far too soon after draining her magic and losing a lot of blood.

He followed the sound into the stable and to the very last stall. The shock of what he found there forced him to grip the side of the stall or fall to the ground. The source of the whimpering wasn't an animal, but Daine. Her face was buried in Cloud's grey mane, her body shaking violently. The pony lay on the floor, unmoving, eyes closed. The sturdy pony who had been the only constant in Daine's chaotic life wasn't breathing, and Numair knew that if he laid a hand on her she would be cold beneath his touch.

Stumbling forwards, Numair fell to his knees beside Daine. He placed a hand on her heaving shoulder, unsure of what to say or do. Staring down at the pony and listening to Daine's heart break, he blinked back tears of his own.

"I couldn't do anything," gasped Daine between sobs. "I tried. I stayed with her all morning, put all the magic I had into her. But it didn't make a difference. She wasn't ill or hurt. It was just time for her to..." she trailed off, dissolving into tears again. Numair pulled her into his arms, cradling her, murmuring comforting, nonsensical words into her hair. "How can I live without her?" Daine cried into his chest. "How can I ever ride another horse, or do anything without Cloud telling me I'm doing it wrong?"

Others wouldn't have been able to understand her grief. Because of her connection with animals, she mourned their passing as she would a human friend, but not like this. This was grief in its rawest form, being torn from her in wracking sobs. Numair knew why Cloud was special. The pony had been there when Daine was just a small child. She had helped to bury the corpses of Daine's mother and grandfather. When Daine forgot her humanity it was Cloud who reminded her, and who followed her, despite the danger, to a new life in Tortall. Cloud was the only family Daine had left, and now she was gone.

Numair lost count of the time they stayed there. When the hostlers entered and found two of the realm's most famed mages on the floor, they fetched the Baron and Lady of the Swoop. The expression on their faces as they took in the scene that awaited them in the stable told Numair that they knew what Cloud's death meant, and they left them in peace after ordering the hostlers to disturb them as little as possible.

Eventually Daine cried herself into a fitful sleep. Numair picked her up and carried her back to their room, gently depositing her onto their bed. After telling the mourning dragonet to watch over her, he left to organise Cloud's burial.


	27. Apple

Inspired by a suggestion from **hydrangea124**

* * *

Numair remembered Perin the clerk well. His memories were not fond. Every time he had seen the boy he had been buzzing around Daine like an irritating fly that couldn't be swatted away. Numair had known what Perin wanted from Daine, of course. Hadn't he wanted the same thing from the young women who studied alongside him at the university when he was the same age? In the end, Alanna had to restrain him from having a "word" with young Perin about exactly what would happen to him should he trifle with Daine. But the whole experience had pushed Numair into having a painful conversation with Daine about sex and babies, which was thankfully ended abruptly when the crimson cheeked young woman reminded Numair that, as the daughter of a midwife, she already knew these things.

One positive thing that came out of that conversation was that Daine reassured Numair that she was in no hurry to bed the clerk. As she wasn't a noblewoman expected to preserve her virginity for her future husband, it seemed silly for her to wait until she was married, particularly as she wasn't sure if she would marry at all; but she wouldn't let anybody – least of all Perin – rush her into bed before she was ready. After their kiss in the Divine Realms, Daine's virtue and who she shared her bed with had become an issue between Daine and Numair alone as every man in the palace (with the possible exception of Nealan of Queenscove) had the sense not to flirt with a black robe mage's lover. Happily, Numair was able to forget about Perin until the night his name rose unexpectedly over two decades after the clerk had been told that he could expect no more kisses from Daine.

It was long past midnight and Numair was lying on the bed, reading by candlelight. They had come to this compromise during the first few weeks of their relationship: if Numair insisted on reading when most sensible folk were asleep, he would do it in bed. It later occurred to Numair that this wasn't a compromise at all; whenever he brought a book to a bed that contained Daine he tended to get very little reading done.

Tonight, however, his wife was too busy to distract him from dusty, arcane tomes. Sarralyn had pulled her into her room for a private talk away from father, and they hadn't emerged for hours. When Daine eventually strolled into their bedroom she carried a piece of paper in one hand and hid a smile behind the other. Seeing the paper, Numair raised his eyebrows. "And you complain that reading keeps _me _from bed."

Daine grinned. "It's a love letter."

"Someone sent you a love letter? Should I incinerate them? I find that turning people into trees becomes boring after a time."

Chuckling, Daine perched on the edge of the bed and handed Numair the letter. "It's not for me. It's for Sarra."

Later, it would occur to Numair that he shouldn't have been surprised that Sarralyn had shown Daine the letter when other girls would have kept such a missive a secret close to their hearts. Whereas Rikash had a penchant for the dramatic, Sarra was every inch as practical and sensible as her mother. Numair often thought that it came from being able to communicate with animals; their particular brand of logic (as Daine had told him many times) often made far more sense than two-legger thinking. At that moment, however, Numair had far more pressing thoughts clamouring for his attention. "A love letter for Sarra?" he asked. "_Our _Sarra? Our fourteen year old daughter?"

Daine rolled her eyes. "I knew you would react like this."

"She is far too young to be receiving love letters!" Numair protested. "She can start thinking about boys when she turns eighteen, and not a day before."

"_Eighteen?"_ repeated Daine incredulously. "May I remind you that you once told me you that you were canoodling before I was born?"

Numair glowered at her. "Must you remember _everything _I say? And Sarra will be doing no canoodling!"

"You should be flattered I think your words worth remembering. No one said anything about Sarra canoodling, it's just a love letter." She tapped the paper he grasped in his hands, urging him to look at it. "Read it; it's sweet."

Snorting, Numair said, "Of course it is, but I was a boy once and I know what they really want."

"Read!" Daine insisted.

Reluctantly, Numair brought the paper closer to his eyes and began to read. The thought of reading a young man's declaration of love for his daughter made his stomach twist, but it turned out he had little to fear. The letter contained none of the gushing sentiments that he poured into his own letters during his youth. It was simple, merely expressing a wish that Sarralyn would consent to join the writer on his afternoon rides for the duration of his stay at the palace. The knot of tension in Numair's chest eased, although his suspicions remained. The letter was signed 'Charley'.

"Who is this 'Charley'?" Numair asked, folding the letter carefully and setting it across his knees. "Do you know him?"Daine nodded. "He's been with the Riders almost two years now. Evie thinks he's a good enough man: loyal, wonderful with the horses and not shy of work."

"Age?"

"Seventeen."

Numair frowned. He would have liked his daughter's sweetheart to be closer to her own age, but he knew Sarra would never tolerate him putting a stop to the relationship for a three year age gap when he was fourteen years apart from Daine. "Anything else I should know?"

Daine's brow creased as she thought for a moment. "I don't think so."

"Who are his parents?"

"I can't say that I know his mother personally, but his father is Perin. Do you remember Perin? The clerk?"

"Of course I remember Perin," Numair said. His voice was light although his thoughts were most certainly not. He thought he had been troubled by that name for the last time many years ago. "Efficient clerk, quiet sort of a boy – and he kept trying to persuade you into his bed." Ignoring Daine as she rolled her eyes, he added, "What's that saying? 'The apple never falls far from the tree'."

"Numair Salmalin!" Daine cried, eyes wide with shock. "How could you say such a thing? It's that kind of thinking that turned the whole of Snowsdale against me before I was even born. Uneducated villagers at least have an excuse for their ignorance, but I would have expected better from you."

"You know I don't mean it," murmured Numair, chastised, and indeed he didn't. He knew well how different children could be from their parents. Daine's compassion towards all animals and her refusal to eat game was alien to Weiryn, and Numair was as different from his father as it was possible for two people to be. Only worry for Sarra had made him voice such a thing.

"I should think not," Daine grumbled.

"We should invite him – Charley – here," said Numair suddenly. From the way Daine blinked confusedly, silent, he could tell she was shock by this sudden change of heart and willingness to give the boy a chance. It would be easier for him to get a measure of this boy, and to warn him off if he didn't like what he saw, in his own home. "Next weekend," Numair continued. "Rikash will be back from university then, so Charley can meet the whole family." Rikash was just as protective of Sarra as Numair.

As Daine excitedly voiced her agreement and hurried from the room to relay the good news to Sarra, Numair lay back with a smile. If Charley could withstand an interrogation from a black robe, a black robe in training and a dragonet, Numair would happily allow him to court his daughter.


	28. Need

This is quite a random chapter. Apart from the chapter dealing with Cloud's death I've been trying to stick to chronological order, but I had a strong urge to write this. I wanted angsty, tormented Numair! You'll be meeting Charley in the next chapter. This is set not long after the fall of the barrier in RotG, before the first chapter of this fic. Does anyone remember Prudence?

* * *

Midwinter celebrations somehow didn't seem appropriate to Numair this year. Aside from the fact that they were being held two days later than was traditional, dozens of people had been killed by immortals in the forty eight hours since the fall of the barrier. Presents had been left to gather dust because their intended recipients were no longer there to open them, and mourning families were forced to hold funerals rather than balls. Everyone apart from Numair, however, seemed even more determined to celebrate Midwinter than usual. It was important to raise spirits, to provide people with hope and happiness in these trying times.

So Numair had reluctantly donned his best robes and attended the annual banquet and ball. He hadn't wanted to do so, but he had been persuaded by Jon. According to the monarch, Numair was a symbol of power to the people of the court. He needed to be seen in public, healthy and seemingly carefree, to provide the people with hope that they could win the war against terrifying odds. But Numair was not carefree, and although he went to the ball he spent most of it staring at the other reason he couldn't laugh or smile with the rest of the revellers.

Daine. They had been together for three years now, and during that time she had become an indispensible part of his life. He had realised in Carthak just how much she had come to mean to him: separated from her with no idea where she was or what was happening to her, all he had been able to think about was getting her back. It hadn't mattered that Jon and Thayet had needed him at home. The knowledge that his life would be forfeit in the event of his capture also counted for little: his life for Daine's had seemed like a reasonable exchange. The only thing that had distressed him was the thought of dying before finding her. When he eventually found her the relief was so strong that he could barely breathe. He had drawn breath in small gasps as he held her, murmuring soothing words into the top of her head.

Had he been in love with her then? Was that why his brief affair with Varice had lacked passion, why his mind had always seemed to wonder when she was whispering suggestions and affections in his ear? Varice had noticed that something was different, that he hadn't embraced her with his old fervour. Perhaps she had attributed it to time and distance cooling his affection. On the other hand, perhaps she had realised before him his true feelings for Daine. She had always been very careful to seat Daine at the opposite side of the room with the handsome prince, and had taken Numair by the arm and towed him away whenever Daine was the centre of his attention.

As Numair thought, he drank. It wasn't like him to drink immoderately but tonight he raised the glass to his mouth absently, and whenever his wine was drained a page promptly appeared with more. He watched Daine, seated at a different table, as she spoke with Lindhall. They were deep in discussion, seemingly oblivious to the people who sat with them. Numair was ashamed to feel jealous of his former teacher, but he couldn't help the ache in his chest caused by someone capturing Daine's attention in a way he thought only he could.

So much had changed in the past two days that he could barely believe it. Actions that had seemed so innocent before his realisation now took on a deeper meaning. He would reach to tuck a curl of hair behind Daine's ear and jerk back, aware that this was the action of a lover. When they hugged he wondered whether he was holding on for a moment too long, and whether Daine had noticed if he was. When he had kissed her cheek in greeting this evening she blinked, and her long eyelashes fluttered against his skin. The urge to capture her lips with his own had been almost unbearable. For an insane moment he had seen the whole thing in his mind's eye: Daine's arms opening to accept him as he kissed her in the way he desperately wanted to, lifting her off her feet in the intensity of his embrace.

Then reality had crashed back in. She wouldn't accept him, she would push him away. She would be disgusted that he had taken advantage of her in such a way. He was fourteen years her senior, probably an old man in her eyes. She didn't love him now (at least not in the way he loved her) and never would. Numair took another gulp of wine.

"So _this _is where you have been hiding," a voice purred in his ear.

Numair turned to find Prudence, a former lover, at his shoulder. She was a beauty in the Varice Kingsford model: waves of blonde hair and curvaceous in clinging silk dresses. There affair had been brief and rather dispassionate, and had ended when Prudence had found a better prospect.

"Hiding from you?" he said with a lopsided smile. "Never, my dear."

"Would you care for a walk in the gardens?" she asked, looking at him through coyly lowered eyelashes.

If Prudence had any genuine feeling for him, Numair would never have agreed to her offer. He never would have followed her out of the palace and into the night. He never would have allowed her to press herself against him and wind her arms around his neck. But Prudence _didn't _have any feelings for him. He was merely an amusement until a richer, more powerful lover came along. So when she tilted her face upwards in invitation, he obliged. His skin prickled beneath her fingertips as they roved his stomach, and as the kiss deepened his mind, clouded by alcohol and weariness, cried one word: _Daine. _

Numair jerked back. He hadn't been kissing Prudence in his mind. He had been caressing Daine's lips, winding his arms around Daine's waists, and Daine's hands had slid beneath his robes to play across his stomach. Horrified at what his imagination had conjured, he made his excuses to Prudence (illness, wine, fighting the next day) and retreated to his rooms. He would be safe there where there was no temptation and he could flagellate himself in peace.

Fate, it seemed, had different plans for him. Daine was waiting for him outside his rooms when he arrived, gnawing her bottom lip anxiously. When she looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw Numair, relief flooded her face. "I didn't see you leave the ball," she explained. "I was worried you'd started another working to wear yourself out."

Gods, she was beautiful tonight. Her eyes full of laughter despite their frightening circumstances, her lips full and inviting. How had she not had a throng of swains waiting for a dance at the ball? Why was she here and not with them? Numair realised that he still hadn't said anything, and that Daine was beginning to look at him strangely. "Gardens!" he burst out. "I went to the gardens to do things. Secret things." _What? _his mind screamed. _That didn't make any sense!_

Daine, however, looked delighted. "Are you _drunk_, master mage?" she demanded incredulously.

"Noo," he said, realising a second too late that pronouncing the word 'no' shouldn't take that long. "I only had four glasses."

"You might be able to handle that normally, but you're exhausted _and_ you only picked at your food – don't try to deny it, I was watching," she said, and then proceeded to rummage in Numair's pocket for his key. Numair allowed her to do so, grinning stupidly at the idea that she cared enough about his wellbeing to monitor what he ate. "You'll wear yourself out, you know," she said as she unlocked the door and guided him inside. "And then where would I be? I can't fight without you."

"I'm sorry," he murmured as she deposited him on the bed and tugged off his boots.

"What for?" she asked.

_For loving you? For not being content with the gift of your friendship? _"For not being able to take off my own boots."

Daine gigged. "S'alright. I need reminding that you're not perfect every now and again. Now," she said sternly, "get some sleep." She pushed him back onto the bed and pulled a blanket over him. He tried to tell her that _she _was perfect, that she was all he could ever want or need, but his thoughts were too sluggish. Within moments weariness had overwhelmed him and dragged him into a deep sleep.

For several minutes after Numair's deep, even breathing began, Daine found excuses to remain in his room. She slid his boots neatly beneath the bed, tucked the blanket more firmly around him. When she brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, her fingers remained on his cheek. Despite what she had told Numair, he had scared her tonight. She had never seen him even slightly out of control before, no matter how dire the situation, and it worried her.

Perching next to him on the bed, she leaned down to his ear and murmured, "Please don't work yourself to death. I'm scared, Numair. I don't know who will survive this war, but I do know that I can't cope if I lose you. You're my best friend; I need you." She paused for a moment, then placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before whispering a farewell and slipping from the room.

* * *

A rare insight into Daine's mind. I can't imagine Numair ever being drunk, but Daine needed to tell him her feelings without him remembering. 


	29. Satisfaction

My plan to stick to chronological order has flown out of the window completely. I apologise for the lack of Charley in this chapter, but I promise that we will be seeing his interrogation soon. Also, I have about six chapters planned after this one until the end, but I'm still happy to take suggestions or requests. This takes place in the autumn after RotG.

* * *

"You're not helping," said Daine, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. "I can't leave if I can't dress." She had managed to pull on breeches, stockings and boots before Numair had noticed that she planned to leave. Now a shirt hung uselessly in her hand as her lover assaulted the sensitive flesh of her neck with his lips. 

Numair broke off nipping her ear gently to murmur, "That's the idea, sweet. Why should the Riders get you all day?" He tugged the shirt from her limp fingers and let it fall to the floor, grinning smugly when he met no protest from Daine. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he began to walk them back to their bedroom.

They hadn't wanted to rush into becoming lovers: Numair had been terrified of pushing her too far before she was ready. What if she thought herself to be in love with him only to realise after they had shared a bed that she wasn't? His nightmare was Daine looking at him with pain or regret. As for Daine, Numair knew that she had been nervous because of the gap in their experience, fearing that she couldn't compare to past lovers. They had finally taken that next step in their relationship a little over a week before, and since then they'd had great difficulty in keeping their hands to themselves. The most innocent touch of Daine's hand in a corridor or at the dining table left Numair's skin burning and his nerves buzzing until the next time they could be alone together. This wouldn't be the first time they had been late for breakfast.

"Mounts!" Daine gasped.

Numair cocked an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"They're choosing their mounts today. Half of them won't have even touched a horse before; they'll need my help."

Sighing, Numair said, "I know you like working with the trainees but I, too, can offer an entertaining morning." He tilted her head back to rest against his shoulder and swooped to kiss her jaw line. "Can the Riders do this?" he purred between kisses, luxuriating in the tiny moan that slipped from her lips.

A giggle bubbled up in her throat. "Well they _could _do this, but-"

"They would face certain death," he finished in a growl, tightening his grip on her. Daine batted his hands away and turned to face him, soft lips parted in a seductive smile that made Numair's chest tighten and his breath come quickly. He lifted her off her feet so that their faces were level, and Daine wound her arms and legs around him. "Does this mean that you will stay for a while longer?" he asked innocently.

"Yes," she said, scowling at him even as she caressed the nape of his neck. "But there's no need to look like the cat that got the cream." His chuckle was swallowed in a kiss. Her hands were at the fastenings of his shirt, fumbling in her eagerness to get them undone. They had just crossed the threshold of their bedroom, Numair's shirt finally sliding from his shoulders, when there was a hammering at the door.

"You two better not be doing what I think you're doing!" shouted Onua from the corridor. "I'm not starting another day without my assistant!"

Numair growled his frustration while Daine blushed a deep crimson. "Tact has never been one of her strong suits," he sighed. Loosening his grip, he allowed Daine to slip to the floor and dash across the room to scoop up her shirt. While she disappeared into their bedroom to dress, he opened the door to Onua. "Are you sure that was loud enough?" he asked with amused exasperation. "I'm certain that George is smirking at the Swoop."

Onua raised an eyebrow at the sight of Numair's bare chest. "I see my guess was right." Although her voice was stern her eyes twinkled. The K'mir had made a good show of threatening Numair with an agonising death should he hurt her friend, but he knew she was happy that they were together, even if it meant her assistant occasionally arrived at the stables late and rumpled. "Get dressed," she ordered. "By my reckoning you two haven't had a good breakfast in four days," here she grinned wolfishly at Numair's blush. "I'm escorting both of you to the Rider's mess."

Grumbling, Numair stood aside to allow Onua to enter and retreated to the bedroom. He dressed quickly, explaining to an amused Daine that he was under orders to accompany her to breakfast. Hurried along by Onua's frequent reminders that she was in the next room so they could _not _resume their former activities, they were both dressed and ready to leave within a matter of minutes. They had left their rooms and were almost at the Rider's mess when Daine groaned. "Kitten," she said, and Numair nodded in understanding. To Onua she explained, "Lindhall wants to introduce her to one of his classes, and I promised I'd take her to his rooms before breakfast."

"I supposed you'd better go," said Onua. Daine apologise and hurried away in the opposite direction while Numair and Onua continued to the mess hall. No sooner had they arrived than Numair remembered that he had his own reasons for visiting Lindhall: his former teacher had borrowed a book that Numair needed for a class that afternoon. No doubt Lindhall would give it to Daine to return to him, but if he retrieved it himself then he would have a few extra minutes alone with Daine. Onua reluctantly allowed him to leave, warning him of the dire consequences should he delay Daine.

About to round the corner to their rooms, Numair heard angry voices. " – knew you were nothing but a cheap whore," spat a man whose voice Numair couldn't quite place.

"I don't want to fight with you." Numair froze: that was Daine's voice. Had someone just insulted her or was there a third person in this conversation?

"No wonder you defended him that day in the stables. I was right all along, wasn't I? You've been dropping your breeches for him since you got here, only now you're not trying to hide it."

Suddenly Numair knew the speaker. It was Perin the clerk, one of the young men who had flocked around Daine before Midwinter. He thought back to the vision he had been granted at Midsummer: Perin trying to persuade Daine into his bed and then spouting poison when she refused. He had even hit her. Numair had been furious at the time, but the crisis they had encountered shortly after and the change in his relationship with Daine had driven the clerk from his mind. Now the old anger welled up inside him: how _dare _this boy try to hurt Daine again?

Propelled by his fury, Numair turned the corner and strode towards the arguing pair. Daine stood with her arms crossed defensively across her chest, barely controlled anger evident in her face. Relief flooded her eyes as she saw Numair, quickly replaced by worry when she noticed his expression. Perin had his back turned to Numair and so did not see the mage approach. "Perin," cautioned Daine. "Please think about what you're saying."

"You think I'm afraid of your mage?" asked Perin incredulously. "I have nothing to fear from a book bound idiot."

Numair cleared his throat.

"What?" Perin demanded, turning to face Numair. His eyes widened as he saw who had disturbed him. "Master Numair, I-"

"'Master Numair'," Numair repeated. He walked slowly, deliberately, towards Perin, who backed away. "That's a lot of respect to pay to a 'book bound idiot'."

"Master Numair, I didn't mean any offence." The last word came out as a gasp as Perin bumped into the wall. He glanced nervously over his shoulder; now there was no escape. Numair stopped scant inches in front of him.

"I take no offence at being called an idiot, I've been called far worse in the past," he said with a smile. Seeing the smile, Perin relaxed. Daine, however, tensed. It was the smile of a cat with a mouse between its paws. "But you shouldn't dismiss books so readily. They can teach you how to boil a man's blood in his veins, or plague him with terrifying visions. Well," Numair spread his hands in a show of false modesty. "They're just the simple spells. I mastered them with barely any study. Now the black robe spells, _they're _interesting."

"Is that so, Master Numair?" Perin asked, grinning nervously. Numair was gratified to see a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on the clerk's forehead.

"Numair..." Daine said softly, and placed a hand on his upper arm.

Numair looked down at her and, as if seeing her for the first time, said "Daine!" He slid an arm around her shoulders and turned his attention back to Perin. "Have you met Daine?"

Perin glanced between the two mages and Numair could see clearly what he was thinking: was it possible that Numair hadn't heard what he had said? Would he get away unscathed? Slowly, Perin nodded. "We're acquainted."

"I have a very interesting history with Daine," Numair said, his voice light. "She saved my life when we first met. I have been her teacher for several years, although she has taught me more than I ever dreamed possible about her magic. She is a friend to Alanna the Lioness and her husband, as well as their majesties, and has risked her life to save the realm more times than I care to count. She is, quite literally, a goddess and a hero. Not only is she my best friend, but she is also the woman I hope to marry. But," he removed his arm from around Daine's shoulders and leaned so close to Perin that their noses were almost touching, "you seem to have a different view of her."

"Master-"

"What was it that you called her?"

Perin shook his head, mouth slightly ajar as he stared at Numair in open terror.

"You don't remember?" asked Numair. "I do. I believe your exact words were 'cheap wore.'"

"Master Numair I can explain, it was a joke-"

"You think that calling a hero of Tortall, the woman I love, a whore is funny?"

"I-"

"Perin," Daine interrupted, shaking her head. "You'll only make things worse. Shut up."

"Good advice," Numair said. Perin's jaws snapped shut. The next time he spoke, Numair's light, friendly tone had vanished. It was replaced by a voice that would have made even the arrogant former Emperor Mage slightly nervous. "Several weeks ago I fought an enemy mage called Inar Hadensra. Have you heard of him?" Numair already knew the answer – the whole palace had heard of his battle with the Scanran sorcerer. When Perin nodded he continued, "When I finished with him all that was left was an eye. If I _ever_ hear you speak to Daine with anything less than reverence, what I do to you will make Hadensra's fate look merciful. _Do I make myself clear?" _

Perin nodded wordlessly.

"Good." Numair took a step back. "Now apologise and leave. Quickly."

Without looking at Daine, Perin mumbled an apology and took off down the hall at a run. Numair watched him go, wishing that he could at least have terrified him for a little while longer. "Was that _really _necessary?" Daine asked.

"Necessary? No. Satisfying? Extremely." He took her hand in his and led her back to their rooms. "I believe in second chances, Magelet. Unfortunately for Perin, he had already had his."

Once they were inside their rooms, Daine placed a hand on his cheek and directed his gaze down to her. "He didn't hurt me, you know. I don't care what he says about me."

"I do. I will not allow people to insult you when I can prevent it."

"But-"

He smothered her protests with a kiss, hoping to wipe the memory of the confrontation from her mind. After a few moments she relaxed into his hold and returned the kiss fervently. This moment of happiness was destined to be brief: the door swung open and an irate Onua shrieked, "I knew this is what you'd be doing! You two are a _nightmare!" _


	30. Commission

This is just a short chapter, but as soon as I though of it I had to write it. Thank you for all of the reviews for the previous chapter, and for indulging me while I wander away from the timeline.

* * *

Numair gazed at his love. She gazed steadily back, a smile hidden somewhere in the stormy depths of her eyes. How many times had he looked at her like this? So many times that he had memorised the pattern of her eyelashes against her skin, that when he fell asleep he dreamt of lying under blue-grey skies.

The court beauties he had been involved with in the past had gone to great lengths to make sure their appearances were perfect. Before they had attended balls, each item of clothing had been chosen, discarded and taken up again. Even the smallest piece of jewellery had been deliberated over for minutes at a time before being deemed suitable. Each strand of hair had been carefully set into place, and their makeup had been applied with an artist's hand.

Daine's appearance usually bordered on the chaotic. She had been known to slip into a ball or banquet with straw in her hair after tending the Rider's horses with Onua. The same court ladies who Numair had been involved with sneered at the mess animals left on her clothes, but to him it was a sign of her devotion to her friends. As for her wild mane of curls, Numair couldn't imagine any better sensation than brushing a flyaway lock of hair from her cheek. He longed to reach out and stroke the curl that currently flopped over her eye, but he was being watched closely by a man who might gossip.

The small curve of a smile on her mouth invited him to fall into a daydream of pulling her into his arms and easing his lips over hers. The edges of reality began to blur as he allowed himself to fall into this familiar fantasy; he could already feel the warmth of her small hand against his chest, her lips brushing against the line of his jaw.

"Master Salmalin? Is everything alright? Is something to your distaste?"

Numair was jerked harshly back into reality. As he stared at the concerned man in front of him, hot shame bubbled in the pit of his stomach and brought a blush to his cheeks. He cleared his throat and forced his lips into something he hoped resembled a smile. "How many times have I asked you to call me Numair?" he asked.

Volney Rain smiled, relief flooding his features. If his client wanted them to be on first name terms, he clearly wouldn't be losing money on this commission! "I prefer to address my customers politely until all bills are settled," he said, hinting gently.

"Of course, of course," Numair muttered, rummaging in his pocket. He produced a leather purse bulging with gold and handed it to the wide eyed painter. He could have commissioned a portrait for half the price if he had gone to another artist, but none of them knew Daine's features as well as Volney and the man could be tight lipped when offered enough gold nobles. "As I mentioned before, discretion is of the upmost importance. I wish to keep the Lioness's gift a secret until her birthday."

An awkward moment as Volney's eyebrow flicked up a fraction of an inch, but it passed swiftly when the painter smiled and accepted his payment. "Of course, Master Sal – _Numair. _I wouldn't want to risk the Lioness's wrath."


	31. Wedding

Numair wished that time would slow down. No, more than that. He wanted it to freeze altogether and then begin to reverse. For although this was a wedding, it felt like he was losing an integral part of himself. Sarralyn, his little girl, the baby he had cradled in his arms, was about to get married. If he had known that one day she would be too old to tuck in at night, to rock to sleep, he would have savoured those moments more. Now it was too late. He was about to lose that little girl who had always asked, with wide eyes, for just one more bedtime story.

"I know how you feel," said a glum voice behind him. Numair turned to face Weiryn and was forced to bite back a smile. The god had been given special permission to leave the Divine Realm to attend his granddaughter's wedding, and Sarralyn had insisted that he dress for the occasion. Under the combined pressure of his mate, daughter and granddaughter he had finally given in. The god of the hunt didn't look quite as intimidating with flowers woven around his antlers.

"How-" Numair began, only to break off abruptly when he realised his voice gave away his amusement. After taking a moment to compose himself he continued. "How I feel about what, Lord Weiryn?" he asked politely.

"About your daughter marrying some fool man this afternoon."

Numair raised an eyebrow. "You have personal experience of this?"

The god nodded gravely. "Indeed I have."

A moment of silence and then, "Do you have any other daughters that I am unaware of?"

Weiryn grinned. "No, just the one."

"It is always a pleasure to speak to you, Lord Weiryn," said Numair dryly.

"You too, mage. I – Oh no." Weiryn was staring into the distance with a look of abject horror. It only took a few moments for the source of his terror to come into sight: Sarra and Daine, advancing on them with armfuls of ribbons and flowers. Weiryn muttered an impressive curse under his breath and then gripped Numair by his arm. "I was never here," he said sternly, and then he was racing across the grass to seek shelter in a group of trees. He moved with a grace and speed that would have been impossible for a mortal man of his size and build. It would have been an impressive sight had his flowers not been jiggling with the movement of his body.

Sarra clucked her tongue as she came to a halt in front of Numair. "Ridiculous man," she said reprovingly. Numair chose not to take offence at this as she was currently glaring over his shoulder at the space where Weiryn had disappeared into the shady trees. "Does he honestly think he can hide from me?"

"I think he's going to give it his best shot, ma," said Daine, coming to stand by Numair. "Would you like me to set some birds on him or are you going after him yourself?"

Sarra handed over her bundle of decorations to Numair and rolled up her sleeves. "I best do it myself. You know what they say: if you want a job doing properly…" She trailed off as she strode across the grass, determination written on her face.

"You'd think he would have learned not to mess with ma by now," Daine chuckled.

For the first time all day, Numair looked at his wife properly. She was as beautiful as ever, dressed in a simple blue dress of silk and wearing the silver badger claw around her neck. He felt a little thrill of pride that on her wrist she wore the charm bracelet he had given her so many years ago. It spent most of its time locked carefully away in a tiny wooden box, and whenever Numair saw it he always felt honoured that she had treasured a gift of his for such a long time. Abruptly he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet, eliciting a tiny cry of surprise from her as she dropped her bundle to grab his shoulders. "You look beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling into her hair.

Daine grinned and snaked her arms around his waist. "You don't look half bad yourself."

"Perhaps after the ceremony…"

"Numair!" Daine pulled back to look into his face, making her eyes wide with feigned shock. "You're a wicked, wicked man!"

"May I remind you that that is one the reasons why you married me?" he replied in his most charming voice.

"I-"

"Will you two stop that!" cried a voice from the tent where the bride and her bridesmaids were preparing. Sarra was sticking her head out of the flap of the tent, scowling at them. "Stop slobbering over each other for two minutes and come and tell me how I look!"

"Sorry," they replied sheepishly, and obeyed their daughter. Once they entered the tent, Daine let out a little gasp. Numair knew how she felt. Their daughter was beautiful. It could have been Daine as she had looked during the Scanran War standing before them, except that Sarralyn had inherited her father's height.

As a drowning man is said to see his life flash before his eyes, Numair saw his daughter's life now that he was about to lose her. He saw her at the age of six when she first succeeded in taking a wolf form, the pride on her face as she was hugged by an ecstatic Daine. He saw her bringing home Charley for the first time and, several years later, announcing their engagement. He saw her joining the Riders as soon as she was old enough, excelling at her job and being promoted to command her own Group. Finally, Numair understood something that his mind had been trying to grasp all day: he had already lost Sarralyn. She had ceased to be a little girl a long time ago, and had developed into a strong, courageous and beautiful woman.

"Da?" Sarra said anxiously. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," said Numair in a strangled voice, before pulling his daughter into a strong embrace and allowing his tears to roll onto the top of her head.


	32. Blood

I'm not quite done with the wedding yet. I'm going to write a couple of chapters from the perspective of Daine and Rikash (I thought they deserved a look in seeing as it's such an important day) but I want to break up the wedding chapters so they don't become repetitive. This chapter is set between the prologue and first chapter of RotG, and Numair and Daine have more than just immortals to deal with. Not the usual fluff, I'm afraid. Also, as I'm getting fairly close to the end I'm opening up to requests and/or suggestions again. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

The quickly darkening sky and steadily dropping temperature finally forced Numair to concede that they could do no more travelling that night. Normally he would have stopped and set up camp when Daine began to sway on Cloud's back, but tonight he was reluctant. Earlier on they had been ambushed by a group of spidrens and the ensuing fight had completely drained him, meaning that any camp they made would be without magical protection. But with Corus still two days of solid riding away and no villages or inns in sight, they had little choice other than to find a sheltered area and sleep in shifts while the other kept watch. Numair was far from happy about putting Daine in such an exposed, vulnerable position but what else could he do?

When they found an area that provided a suitable amount of protection from both the elements and any roving immortals that might want to pick a fight, they set up camp quickly and in silence, both of them too exhausted to speak. Numair was coaxing the fire to a heat that would be able to cook food when Daine reappeared from behind a bush, rubbing her hands on her breeches. "That's the latrine dug," she announced, smiling weakly at him. "Any luck with the fire?"

"It should be ready in time for breakfast," said Numair dryly, grinning when this coaxed a laugh from Daine.

She glanced into the trees, into the gathering gloom that was drawing in around them. "If you don't need me here, would it be alright with you if I went to wash? A magpie told me there's a stream nearby."

Numair frowned and rocked back on his heels, carefully feeding dry twigs into the small flames as he spoke to Daine. "I don't know if you wandering off on your own is such a good idea, particularly when I have no magic to defend us with."

"I'll go as a wolf. You know that immortals bother two leggers more than the People, I should be safer that way." Numair wanted to argue that 'safer' wasn't good enough and she would, in fact, be much safer is she stayed with him, but then she said, "_Please_, Numair. I need to wash all of this grime off, even if it is with freezing cold water."

"Fine," he grumbled. "But _be careful._" She grinned widely in response, sending a rush of heat to his face. Her shape change took a lot longer than normal, and Numair knew that she too was running low on magic. This fact almost compelled him to plead with her to stay in the camp, but when she began wagging her tail happily he found that he couldn't bring himself to. There had been so little to take pleasure in lately, how could he deny her whatever small thing she managed to find to be happy about? Slowly she eased her new body out of her clothes, careful not to rip or damage them. She was down to her last tunic and breeches and Numair knew that she had no wish to wear his cut down clothes all of the way back to the palace. With a final grin and a reassuring wag of the tail in his direction, Daine was gone, bounding through the trees.

Numair groaned as he stood up, ignoring a tiny inner voice that said only old men made noises when they changed positions. Retrieving Daine's clothes from the floor, he carefully brushed off the dirt and leaves that clung to the fabric before setting them down on her bedroll. He cast a glance at the weakly sputtering fire and, deciding that if he waited until Daine returned to begin cooking their supper they really would be eating it for breakfast, delved into his pack in search of food. The tightly wrapped salted meat he pulled out had been given to them in the last village they had visited, and he wasn't entirely sure what it was. He hoped for Daine's sake that it wasn't game.

For the next few minutes he busied himself by cutting the meat into thin strips with a small dagger. When he placed it in the hot pan he was relieved to be met by a delicious smell that made his mouth water and his stomach lurch. Clearly they wouldn't be kept awake by hungry stomachs tonight, although the breakfast that awaited them in the morning consisted of stale bread and water.

Almost half a candle mark later Numair was beginning to get worried. Surely Daine should have returned by now? She had said that the stream was nearby and he was certain that she wouldn't want to linger in the icy water. Perhaps she had been caught up in conversation with one of her nocturnal friends, or had found an animal in need of healing. It would be just like her to help another without a thought that she might need her magic to defend herself. At the very least he could comfort himself with the thought that if she had been seriously hurt the animals of the forest would be crying their grief and pain along with her, and the only sound he could hear was the gentle rustling of leaves.

Finally, the sound of footsteps approaching. If Numair had been better rested he would have realised that there were two sets of footsteps and both of them were too heavy to belong to Daine, but in his current state of mind all he felt was an overwhelming relief. Smiling, he turned to greet Daine and found himself face to face with two men. Both of them looked as if they had missed far more meals than Numair had, their ragged clothes hanging off them. Their faces were smeared in filth from the forest. More importantly, they both carried blades.

"Evenin'," one of them said, staring at the meat with greedy eyes. "Thought we smelled something good."

"You're welcome to join me," said Numair politely.

The other man let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. "We'll be availin' ourselves of your food and your gear, but I'm afraid we can't have you running off and crying to the authorities." He removed his dagger from its sheath. "If you don't make any trouble we'll make it nice and quick for you." The man who had spoken first unsheathed his blade, and as one the bandits began to move towards Numair.

Numair didn't stop to think that fleeing would be his best chance of survival. Although he was tired, he was better fed and longer in the legs than the bandits, and he could probably outrun them. All he could think about was that there were _two _bedrolls. Even if Daine discovered the danger and didn't return to camp, the men would soon realise that Numair hadn't been alone and go in search of his companion. What would they do to Daine if they found her? Tightening his grip on the dagger he had been using only moments ago to cook, Numair prepared to fight.

He had barely taken a step when a large grey blur streaked out of the trees and slammed into the nearest bandit. The man howled and slashed uselessly at the wolf, who effortlessly evaded his blade. His friend, terrified by what appeared to be a crazed animal, turned and ran into the forest as fast as his legs would carry him. Having lost his grip on his dagger, the remaining bandit rained heavy blows onto the wolf's head and chest until, with a guttural snarl, the wolf snapped its head around to clamp its powerful jaws into the man's neck. His screams grew weaker until finally he sank to the floor, still.

The wolf turned into Daine. She stood motionless, either not aware or not caring that she was naked. Her mouth and chin were smeared in the blood of the man she had just killed. She turned wide, unseeing eyes on Numair. "I – I've never killed anyone with my teeth before," she said. Then she was on the ground before Numair saw her move, retching into the grass on her hands and knees.

Jolted into action, Numair unbuttoned his cloak and knelt to wrap it around her. He stroked her back as she heaved, muttering soothing words. When her body had finally rejected every last trace of the bandit's blood, Numair emptied his canister of water onto one of his spare tunics and gently cleared the blood from her face. "You only did what you had to," he said quietly. "He was going to kill me. He would have killed you too if he'd had the chance."

"I know," she moaned. "It would be different if I'd killed him with my bow. But I felt him. He was so thin, so hungry. That's why he attacked. He was hungry." With that, she began to sob. Numair wrapped his arms around her, pressing her face into his shoulder so that she didn't have to see the corpse of the man she had killed.


	33. Siblings

A very unusual chapter here. I wanted to build Rikash and Sarra's relationship before writing her wedding from his perspective, so here are five drabbles about the siblings.

At the age of six, Rikash began to have nightmares about events he had no memory of. Hellish creatures with steel wings and a stench that burned his nostrils bore down on his parents, murder in their eyes. He couldn't talk to his parents. They had refused to tell him about their adventures until "he was older", so he had asked the pages and palace servants. When the nightmares came he left his own bed to huddle next to Sarra. She never teased him or threatened to tell. Years later, he found out that Sarra had first heard of stormwings and war at the age of five through Cloud.

**XXX**

Sarra knew that her father believed he had a natural ally against Charley in Rikash. She also knew that her mother was thrilled to be the first person she confided in about her sweetheart. But two weeks before she approached Daine, she wrote to her brother describing her hopes and fears about Charley and her worry about their father's reaction. His simple reply arrived the morning she told her mother. "Don't panic. I'll keep Da under control. I have a dozen new books to distract him with. But I can't make any promises about Ma's friends."

**XXX**

On one Midwinter visit back to the palace, Sarra found her brother huddled over piles of books and scrolls at a large table. When she asked what he was doing, he told her that he was trying to decide which animal to shape shift into. He had made a list of the benefits and drawbacks of each possibility but still couldn't make up his mind. From then until he returned to university, Sarra called the various animals into their rooms and relayed their answers as Rikash put questions to them.

**XXX**

Numair and Daine never ceased to be amazed by their children. When they fought it was enough to rock the foundations of the palace. Once, Sarra grew cat's claws and scratched a deep gash into Rikash's cheek. Another time Rikash blasted her with raw power, giving her a nosebleed that wouldn't stop. After a fight that would go out of their way to avoid each other for a week, remaining resolutely silent when they were forced together at breakfast and dinner. But then were would be a peace offering – an apple, a cake – and they would be the best of friends again until the next fight.

**XXX**

Rikash often thought that he came off worse in the naming process. After all, his sister was named after their grandmother, a goddess who watched over childbearing and healing. Who was he named after? A stormwing. A creature that inspired fear and desecrated corpses. He resented Sarra for a long time although he knew that his name wasn't her fault. She'd had as little control over his name as she had her own. But it was Sarra who spent hours trawling through the palace library and consulting Lindall to find a book about the heroes of the Immortals War, which contained the name of the stormwing who had sacrificed his life for the fight.


	34. Rescue Mission

**Note: **Chronological order has gone out of the window completely, and I really liked this idea. Set a couple of weeks before Numair realises he's in love with Daine in the prologue of RotG.

**Breakfast**

George grumbled as he settled himself behind his desk. His wife and children were currently enjoying a delicious hot breakfast in the hall. A rider had arrived only a few minutes ago, bringing with him a message from one of George's spies in Scanra. It couldn't want to be read until after breakfast, so he was stuck with slices of cold meat from the previous night's meal.

He had just begun to decode the missive when his study door sprung open. George leapt to his feet, a dagger sliding easily into his hand, but relaxed when he saw it was Numair. Numair, however, looked far from relaxed. His robe was soaked and clumps of wet sand clung to his clothes and hair. He collapsed into an armchair by the fire.

George poured a goblet of warm, spiced wine and offered it to Numair, who snatched it and gulped it down.

"What happened to you?" George inquired lightly.

"You wouldn't believe it," croaked Numair.

"Try me," said George, and settled himself into the chair opposite the distraught mage.

**Pre Dawn**

Numair was having an enjoyable dream. He was kissing a beautiful woman. Well, he assumed she was beautiful. He couldn't verify this assumption because every time he tried to open his eyes she covered them with her fingers, giggling softly. But she _felt _beautiful. His fingertips roamed modest curves, soft skin and a head of curly hair. Time after time he begged between kisses to be allowed to see her, and time after time she he refused. Finally she relented, but to Numair's horror he realised he couldn't open his eyes. Coaxed by her softly calling his name, Numair won the battle with his heavy lids and opened his eyes.

It was Daine. He let out a startled yelp, sitting up and knocking her off the bed. She gave a cry of pain as she hit the floor hard. Numair stared around him. He was no longer in his dream, but in one of the guest rooms at the Swoop. There was barely a tinge of light in the sky outside his window. Realising that he had just shoved the flesh and blood Daine onto the floor, he hurried out of bed to help her back to her feet, apologising profusely.

She brushed aside his apologies. "Don't worry about it. I've had worse," she said, grinning. Her smile faded into a frown of concern. "Are _you _alright? You were moaning and thrashing in your sleep. It looked like you were having a nightmare."

Numair's cheeks darkened. How could he explain to his student that the cause of his agitation was far from fear? Although perhaps she wouldn't find it so difficult to understand. That thought made him shudder. Prince – _Emperor_ – Kaddar had forced Numair to confront the fact that Daine was no longer a scrawny thirteen-year-old but a beautiful young woman. Kaddar had obviously been interested in her, and since warning him off Numair had become all too aware of the looks she attracted around the palace. The eyes that followed her angered him not just because he felt responsible for her welfare, but because he felt more than a prick of jealousy. He ignored the jealousy when it came; it was easier than trying to figure out what it might mean.

"It wasn't a bad dream," he said slowly. "More of a confusing one. I think I may have a puzzle to solve."

Daine raised her eyebrows. "You're not usually this cryptic in the morning."

"Sorry, magelet," he chuckled. Another glance at the dark sky roused his concern. "What are you doing here at this time of night? Is everything alright?"

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure. I think one of the People needs my help. I can feel that they're in pain and near the beach, but I don't know what's wrong. I thought you might kill me if I went down to the beach on my own in the dark."

"You guessed correctly. Give me a moment to dress and I will accompany you."

Daine nodded and slipped from the room, leaving Numair feeling relieved. When they were in hurry or camping on long journeys they turned their backs to each other while they dressed, but lately that had felt uncomfortable. He quickly pulled on a fresh set of breeches and tunic, and then, mindful of the cold wind by the sea, a thick robe. He accomplished this in little more than two minutes, scared that Daine would leave without him in her hurry to help the frightened animal.

When he emerged from his room, she took one look at him and burst into giggles. "Gods, Numair, your hair! It's worse than mine."

Numair ran a hand self consciously through his loose hair. Normally he tied it back but this morning there hadn't been time. "Is it that bad?"

"You'll do," she teased gently. They crept bare footed past the silent rooms of the Swoop. If they woke the children up before dawn then Alanna and George would make their lives not worth living. Just before they reached the courtyard they stopped to pull on their boots.

They walked to the beach in a companionable silence. Noticing that Daine shivered in the cold breeze, Numair reached out and pulled her beneath his cloak. The action exposed more of him to the biting air, but he was rewarded when Daine's trembling diminished and she smiled up at him gratefully. For an insane moment he was gripped by the urge to kiss her. It struck him how easy it would be to lean down, tilt her face towards his and claim her lips. He was horrified to realise that he had actually begun to move down towards her. He straightened abruptly and forced himself to face forwards, blaming his moment of insanity on the dream he was woken from.

Daine took the lead when they reached the beach. She closed her eyes in concentration, listening for the voice that had called for her help. She led Numair to the edge of the sea, where the water lapped gently against her toes, and pointed to a rock a few feet out. "There," she said firmly, and compressed her mouth in a tight line of anger. "It's a cat. She says that a boy put her out there yesterday afternoon. She's hurt."

She began to remove her boots.

"What are you doing?" Numair demanded incredulously.

"Going to get her," said Daine in a voice that allowed no room for argument.

"You can't go into the water, it's freezing!"

"Well I can't fly out there. I'm almost dry from yesterday, and I need my magic to heal her."

Daine had spent the whole of the previous day tending the Swoop's horses. Numair couldn't allow her to wade into the freezing sea water. She could be swept away or made ill by the cold. He, on the other hand, could take his hawk shape and retrieve the cat. "I will go," he said firmly. "I have more than enough Gift to make the shift."

"But-"

"No arguments, Daine!" He loosened his robe and took his hawk form immediately, bursting out of his clothes when they fell to the sand. Daine's cry was lost in the wind as he soared towards the rock where the cat lay. He rejoiced as he skimmed over the water, and had to resist the urge to prolong his flight.

He landed on the rock and resumed his normal shape, wincing as the cold air bit his skin. The cat lay curled in a tight burl, clearly trying to stay warm, but her front leg was thrust away from her. Judging by the strange ankle, it was broken. Numair picked her up gently and cradled her in his arms, trying not to jar her leg. She didn't struggle but watched him trustingly; Daine must have told her that he was here to help. As he held her, he realised he had a problem. The cat was too large and heavy to carry back in his hawk form, and he couldn't call on Daine for help. The only way to bring her back to shore was to wade there.

Turning to face the shore, he was relieved to see that Daine had politely turned to face the other way. He held the cat closer to his chest and put a foot in the water. The cold burned his foot. Yelping, he jumped back onto the rock. That brief dip in the water was enough to make him never want to venture from his dry haven, but he knew that he must. If he didn't, then Daine would have to wade into the freezing water to rescue the cat. Steeling himself, he jumped into the water.

Later, he would have no idea how he made it back to the sand. The cold of the water numbed his mind. When he was a few steps away from dry land, he couldn't even muster the energy to be embarrassed that Daine was watching him, waiting with his robe.

She hurried towards him and wrapped the warming fabric around him. She wrapped her arms around him, careful not to squash the cat, and began to rub him to warm him up. "Fool man, I tried to tell you that you couldn't carry her back," she muttered.

**Breakfast **

George tried and failed miserably to hide a chuckle. "It's always the same with you mages. The more power, the less sense."

"I had to do it," said Numair, looking abashed. "If I hadn't then Daine would have."

"She certainly has you wrapped around her finger."

Numair raised his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you didn't do crazier things for Alanna when she was a knight in training."

George's lips twitched. "Yes, lad, but I was in love with her."


	35. Goose Chase

**I believe someone suggested this a while ago, so thank you to them.**

* * *

The bell calling the palace to breakfast reached Numair in his rooms, and he cursed under his breath. He had arranged to meet Daine just after dawn to practice her shape shifting, but his latest working had kept him absorbed all night and the early morning lesson had completely slipped his mind. Daine would have been waiting for him, ankle deep in snow, for an hour now. Reprimanding himself for his thoughtlessness, he quickly wove a shield around the gemstones he was working on to prevent any wayward magic from interfering with his experiment.

He grimaced as he passed a mirror and caught a glimpse of himself. The sleepless night had certainly taken its toll. Dark half circles underlined his eyes and in several places his hair stood out in different directions, testament to the amount of times he had dragged his fingers through his hair in frustration. No time to fix it now. Daine had seen him looking far worse in the past, and he certainly didn't mind denying her the chance to tease him about the time he spent preening himself. He swept his hair back into a simple ponytail, pulled on his thickest pair of boots and found a warm cloak before leaving his rooms.

They had arranged to meet at the edge of the Royal Forest, but with the weather as cold as it was Numair didn't expect her to wait there for more than a few minutes. Instead of heading for the line of trees he beat a path to the stables. It was her usual haunt and warm enough there with the soft hay and bodies of her friends. He entered the cheerily lit stable gratefully, closing the door of the human entrance firmly behind him.

Stefan Groomsman nodded to him in greeting. "Mornin' Master Numair. Lookin' for Daine?" he inquired.

"Good morning, Stefan. Yes, have you seen her?"

Stefan jerked his head towards the end of the row of stalls. "In yonder stall with that grumpy mare."

Numair chuckled softly to himself and thanked Stefan. He made his way to the stall that had been pointed out to him, and there found Daine. She was brushing Cloud down, and although she didn't speak he could tell by an occasional gesture that she was having a conversation with her pony. The horse in the stall next to Cloud's rested her head on the partition, occasionally nuzzling Daine's hair or tunic when she came close enough.

Noticing Numair, Cloud looked up and laid her ears back against her head, snorting in disgust.

"Hush now, Cloud," scolded Daine. "I'm not in the mood for your tricks this morning." She took an apple from her pocket and gave it to the pony before turning to face Numair. "Goddess, Numair! You look awful."

Numair grimaced and began to regret his decision not to take more time fixing his appearance. "Thank you, magelet."

Daine grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. Are you sickening?"

"No. A new experiment kept me up all night."

"So that's why you stood me up," she teased gently. "One of your arcane workings."

It was Numair's turn to apologise. "Sorry," he said, colouring slightly. "I completely lost track of the time."

She waved aside his apology and said, "Do you still want to have the lesson or do you want to go straight to breakfast?"

"I'm willing if you are."

They said goodbye to Cloud. Numair guessed that the mare had made her usual parting comment, because Daine flushed and muttered under her breath. The walk to the Royal Forest passed in silence as all of their concentration went into not stumbling and falling into the snow. Eventually Numair gave in and melted them a path through the snow, resulting in a small fire springing up in the frozen grass beneath. After much stamping and kicking, they extinguished the blaze and reached the forest.

"What form are you going to try today?" he asked.

"I think I'd like to fly today," she said thoughtfully.

Looking up at the steely sky, Numair shivered and said, "I don't envy you today, magelet."

"I'll have feathers to keep me warm."

"I think I'll stick with my cloak."

Daine giggled and slipped her pack from her back. Handing it to him, she closed her eyes and fell silent. It used to take her minutes to achieve the concentration required for a shape shift, but now it took her mere seconds. Her clothes fell to the ground, and a snow white goose burst out of them. She circled around Numair's head twice before streaking off into the sky, leaving him to collect her clothes and store them in her pack.

Alone, Numair began to grow morose. They had both called the morning's meeting a "lesson", but strictly speaking that wasn't true. In the early days Daine had needed his guidance to heal animals and shape shift, but lately she had needed him less and less. Although she would always need his help with subjects like mythology, he was running out of practical things to teach her. It created a hollow feeling in his chest whenever he thought that she would soon outgrow him.

A scream split the silence of the forest. It froze Numair to his very core, sending icy splinters of fear throughout his body. He knew that voice; it belonged to Daine. And Daine didn't scream for a sprained ankle or a little fright. She had to be suffering greatly before she would even mention it to anyone. To make a noise like that she had to be in agony. She was in pain, probably frightened, and Numair had no idea where she was. That thought melted his insides, turned his terror into a hot liquid that spurred him into action. He stumbled forwards, having no idea which direction to look in but knowing that he would rip apart the forest to find her if he had to.

Then came a second scream, this one masculine. "Help!" it cried. "Someone, please help me!"

Numair jerked in the direction of the cry and began to run. He didn't feel the small branches that snagged in his hair, nor the freezing wind that stung his cheeks. His only thought was of reaching Daine. Finally he burst into a small clearing. There stood one of the royal hunters: a young man, no more than a boy really. Fat tears trickled down his cheeks, and his breath came in harsh gasps. All this Numair took in within a second, and then his eyes fell on Daine.

She lay at the hunter's feet wearing only her silver badger claw. More shockingly, an arrow protruded from her upper arm and blood was dripping steadily from the wound, staining the snow crimson. Her wide eyes rolled in pain and fear, but when she saw Numair she whimpered a plea for help. Falling to his knees at her side, he yanked off his cloak and tunic and bundled them around her, trying to avoid touching the arrow. "It's alright, magelet," he murmured, his calm voice betraying none of the horror he felt. "I'm here. You're safe."

"I didn't know," the hunter croaked through his tears. "I thought she was a goose, I-"

"Go," snarled Numair. Later he would regret his harshness with the terrified young man and seek him out to apologise. But now he couldn't see past his anger with the man who had hurt Daine and his fear for his friend and student. "Go back to the palace, tell them what you've done and get help. Now!" he shouted when the hunter hesitated. The young man started and sprinted away into the trees.

With exceeding gentleness he lifted her off the forest floor and cradled her to his chest, eliciting a groan of pain. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Numair," she groaned. "Hurts."

"I know," he said mournfully. "I'm sorry for that, magelet. Stay with me: Baird will patch you up in no time." With that, he sprinted towards the castle and help, praying that Daine would obey his command and hang on.


	36. Some Things Never Change

I really liked this idea, so I hope it doesn't end up a big confusing mess.

**The Royal Palace, 452**

Numair had taken many women to many restaurants and balls. Never before had he had to conduct one of these romantic evenings like a secret military operation. There were many lovers who met in the shady nooks of the palace and gardens, usually men and women whose spouses lived far from court or young squires who were already betrothed and needed to keep their romantic entanglements secret. However, betrayal was the furthest thing from Numair's mind as he crept through the corridors to the Riders' barracks.

He and Daine had admitted their feelings for each other less than a month before, and the new relationship between them felt strange even while it was wonderful. They wanted time to get used to it before they told their friends about the change. Numair also wanted to give Daine time to change her mind and, although she hadn't said it, she was giving him the same chance. That wouldn't happen. It was true that their relationship felt strange to him, but that was only because he could finally touch and speak to her in a way that had been forbidden to him previously. He would grow accustomed to it eventually, although at the moment he found himself gasping for breath every time she kissed him.

Arriving at Daine's door, he rapped lightly and then looked over his shoulder, checking that he was alone. The door opened an inch and a blue-grey eye peered out cautiously. "Is it safe?" whispered Daine.

"It's safe," said Numair seriously, although he couldn't quite contain his grin. "I haven't been followed. Kitten?"

"She's been told to let no one in my room under any circumstances. I'm 'sposed to be ill. That's what I told Onua anyway."

Behind her Kitten gave a low, sad whistle. Always unhappy to be left out, she and Daine had clearly spoken about this earlier because Daine turned to her and said, "We've talked about this, Kit. You know you can't come tonight but I'll take you to the Midwinter feast."

Kitten chirruped inquisitively and Daine added, "Yes, I promise."

Bidding the dragonet goodbye, Daine hurried out into the corridor and locked her door. Numair suddenly found that he had difficulty breathing. She had donned breeches and tunic for the occasion, but they were nothing like what she usually wore. Thayet had clearly had a hand in the outfit. While Daine normally didn't mind wearing whatever she could find in the stores, these clothes had clearly been made to fit her as they subtly emphasised her gentle curves. The silk tunic was the same shade of blue that she had worn in Carthak, making her eyes quite startling to look at.

"Ready?" asked Daine, smiling up at him.

Numair nodded and smiled back, not trusting his voice enough to speak. As they hurried down the corridor, he wondered how he would make it to Corus without kissing her.

**The Royal Palace, 483.**

Sarralyn knew that she shouldn't be nervous. She was only meeting her brother, after all, and she had never been shy around him. Despite the arguments and rivalry, they had been best friends until he had left Corus for university. They'd had to be. Having a shape shifter for a mother and the most powerful mage in the realm as a father involved a certain amount of pointing and whispering, and often they'd found that other children were too scared to want to play with them. This was fine most of the time: Sarra had the People for company and Rikash his books. But every now and then they found that they wanted human company and, as their parents spent a lot of time in service to the king, were forced to rely on each other.

Things had changed when Rikash left to gain his qualifications as a mage. Sarra understood why he had to do it – he couldn't expect to become a black robe with the facilities at the palace, and with Numair as his father he had a lot to live up to – but she couldn't quite forgive him for leaving her alone. During the first couple of years of his absence they had written to each other regularly and Rikash had visited during the major festivals. But since she joined the Riders Sarra had been busy or away from the palace during most of her brother's visits. Somehow it had been three years since she last saw Rikash.

The last time they met Rikash had been fifteen. He had been a skinny, gangly boy, who didn't seem comfortable in his own skin. The man – for that was what he was – who rode towards her now had gained muscle on his arms and legs, and his shoulders had broadened. He wore his hair in a sleek horsetail and stared confidently in front of him. Sarra realised that when he finally gained his black robe – which he was set to do faster than their father – he would be an intimidating figure.

The problem was that Sarra knew only the boy Rikash. She had no idea how to talk to this impressive man. Her stomach churned in anxiety as he drew closer, and when the horse came to a halt she knew she would have to say something soon. As Rikash dismounted, however, his foot caught awkwardly in the stirrup and he would have fallen had Sarra not rushed forward to steady him. She smiled to herself; it was good to know that some things never changed.

**Corus, 452.**

The tavern they entered was on the outskirts of the city, frequented mainly by travelling merchants on their way to and from Corus to do business. Numair chose it because it was renowned for serving the best chicken dishes within fifty miles, and it was extremely unlikely that they would bump into anyone from the palace. A few coins bought them cosy seats in an alcove and a promise that the publican wouldn't gossip about their presence there.

They were served first with a delicious chicken stew, warming on the slightly chilly autumn night, and then a concoction of cream and fruit. Numair found that his own dinner grew cold as he watched Daine eat. He loved to watch her close her eyes in pleasure and listen to her small mewls of happiness, infinitely preferable to the resigned expression she had worn so often over the last few months when they were reduced to eating stale bread. Even better were the small caresses and kisses they shared over dinner, revelling in the fact that away from the palace they didn't have to restrain themselves.

"I love this," sighed Daine, smiling.

"What do you love, dear one?"

"This." She took his hand and raised it to her lips, blushing as she placed a slow, deliberate kiss on each fingertip. Numair felt his own cheeks heat up as he watched her and found himself wishing that they were alone. They hadn't yet become lovers as he was determined not to rush Daine, but she made self control very difficult when she kissed him like that. She pressed a final kiss into the palm of his hand and said, "I wish we could do this every do. Though," she smiled wryly, "you might get bored of me."

"Never," said Numair firmly, squeezing her hand. "And we _could _do this every day if you lived with me."

She sighed, this time in exasperation. "I've told you, Numair. I love you but I don't want to get married yet."

"I'm not asking you to marry me, although don't think that I've given up on that. I'm asking you to move into my rooms and the tower."

A brilliant smile broke over her face. "Kitten would have to come too."

"Is that a yes?" asked Numair, heart pounding.

"Of course! I-"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence. Numair wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him and kissing her fiercely. She responded with enthusiasm, twining her arms around his neck. The intensity of their embrace increased and suddenly Numair was falling backwards, landing on the floor beneath the table with Daine on top of him. "Not that I don't love this," he murmured, slightly dazed, "but I don't think this is the appropriate place."

Daine clapped her hand over his mouth. "Shush!" she ordered in a whisper. "Alanna and George just walked in."

"_What?" _

Over the noise of the crowd he could hear Alanna's voice. She sounded furious. "The pig headed prig," she growled. "A probationary year! I can't believe he agreed to this."

"Now, lass, Jon has his reasons," said George, far calmer than his wife.

"I don't care about his reasons! I will never set foot inside that palace again!"

Numair and Daine shared a worried look. "I don't think this is the right time to tell Alanna about us," he whispered.

"What are we going to do? We can't leave without them noticing us."

It was true. They couldn't get to the door without passing their table and an invisibility spell would be useless in such a crowded room. Looking around, Numair glimpsed an open window. "I think I have an idea," he murmured.

**Corus, 483**

Sarra and Rikash wandered aimlessly through the streets of Corus. They had made plans to find a tavern to eat some supper, but as they began to talk they found that it was impossible to stop. Rikash was full of stories about life at the university – the eccentric teachers, workings that had gone spectacularly wrong – and in return Sarra told him about life in the Riders. Rikash was a little jealous that Sarra had been involved in so many adventures, but she reassured him that he would be one of the most powerful mages in the land in a few years time.

They had finally chosen a tavern and were beginning to make their way there when a screech from an alley distracted them. Exchanging worried glances, they hurried to the mouth of the alley. It was a long, thin space between two rickety buildings. There being no torches it was almost impossible to see, but Sarra gave herself an owl's eyes to see to the bottom of the alley. There were three ragged men holding down a wailing, screeching cat. The animal's distress was a physical pain in her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. "They're torturing that cat!" she hissed.

Rikash couldn't communicate with animals like his sister, but he had been raised by the Wildmage and the thought of someone inflicting pain on animal caused him as much horror as a human being tortured. "What are we going to do?" he asked. "We can't-"

"We're going to stop them!" interrupted Sarra, bending down to pick up a broken brick. Taking aim, she launched it at the man who appeared to be the ring leader and caught him on his forearm. Howling in pain and shock, he dropped the cat and clutched the place where the brick had opened a cut. His companions also released the cat, who quickly sprang away into the shadows, and rallied around the injured man, fists raised.

"Who's there? Who did that?" one demanded.

"There!" shouted another, pointing at Sarra and Rikash.

"Now you've gone and done it," groaned Rikash.

"You expected me to stand here and let them hurt that poor cat?" she demanded incredulously.

"No, but you could have gone about it differently. You could have roared and scared them off. Now they want a fight."

"We'll fight back!"

"_Sarra!_" he said exasperatedly. "We can't fight them! Neither of us has weapons. If I use my Gift I'll probably blow them up and you'll kill them if you fight with teeth or claws. No matter how much you think they should be punished, hurting animals doesn't warrant a death sentence. We'd be charged with murder!"

"So what do we do? They'll be on us in a second!"

She was right. During their frantic whispered conversation the men had been creeping up the alleyway, advancing on them with fury in their eyes. Rikash grabbed his sister's hand and yanked her away. "Run!"

**The Palace Grounds, 452.**

Later Numair would wonder how no one noticed two hawks waddling across the tavern floor. Miraculously they went unnoticed and, hopping up onto the window sill, they burst out into the night sky. They soared across the city, heading for the trees of the royal forest and the palace. If he had thought that flying was exhilarating, it was nothing compared to flying at Daine's side. He did, however, mourn the fact that he would never see her in that beautiful blue tunic again.

_Beautiful, am I? _asked Daine in his head.

Numair was so shocked that for a moment he almost forgot how to fly. _Why didn't I know that we could communicate like this? _he asked when he finally recovered.

_I didn't realise until just now. _

They continued onto the palace, not speaking mind to mind but sharing emotions. Numair felt Daine's thrill at the freedom of flight and her joy at being with him, and he was certain that she could feel those emotions mirrored in him. As they neared the palace they became playful, circling and swooping through the sky and trying to outdo each other. The moment they cleared the royal forest Daine plummeted into a dive, pulling up mere inches from the ground.

_I can beat that, _he called, and dropped into his own dive. Halfway to the ground he glanced at Daine and noticed that not only was she back on solid land, but she had resumed her normal form. For the second time that night he almost forgot to use his wings, and instead of continuing his plummet down to earth arrived at a more sensible speed. "That's cheating," he gasped as he resumed his human form, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

Daine giggled softly. "It's not my fault you got distracted."

"_You _were the distraction!"

She laughed again and they fell silent. Numair kept his eyes averted but he heard soft, barely audible footsteps in the grass. Then Daine was in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck and rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. When she drew away she was blushing fiercely. "Is this an appropriate place?" she asked, and although her voice was light he could hear the nervousness behind it.

Numair smiled and pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ears. "As long as there are no lionesses."

**Corus, 483.**

Although Rikash had been the one to drag Sarra away, she soon took control and steered him in a different direction. "What are you doing?" he asked as she dragged him into a different alleyway. "We'll be trapped here!"

"I know what I'm doing," she said, nodding upwards. Rikash glanced up and saw that the cat they had rescued was following them on the rooftops, presumably feeding his sister directions. Sarra led him to a pile of rubbish consisting of various vegetable peelings, discarded pieces of leather and paper and wood shavings. "Get in," she ordered.

"Are you insane? I'm not getting in there!"

"Just do it!" she demanded, pushing him face first into the rubbish pile. Feeling her landing beside him, he cursed her quietly and began to burrow into the heap. By the time they were both completely covered there was only a tiny gap through which to see and breathe. Moments after they had both fallen still the men charged down the alleyway, two with their fists raised and the ringleader carrying the portion of brick that had been thrown at him.

"You idiot," the leader growled. "You said they came down here!"

"They did! I saw them!"

"Do you see them now?"

"No, but-"

"Well come on! We can still catch them."

They turned and ran back out of the alley. Sarra and Rikash held their breath, listening until the footsteps and angry shouts had faded before they burst out of the rubbish heap, gulping in clean air. Sarra took one look at her brother and burst into peals of laughter. "You have a banana peel in your hair," she giggled when she had caught her breath enough to speak.

"And you have half a potato in yours," he replied, reaching over to pluck it out of her tangled curls. "Despite the rubbish pile," he said, tossing the potato away, "I've missed this."

Sarra smiled and reached over to knock the banana peel onto the floor. "Me too."


	37. Wedding II

"Ma, how did you know you were in love with Da?"

Daine froze in the process of lacing up her daughter's dress. Sarra was due to be married in just a few hours; it seemed an odd time ask a question like that. Despite herself she felt the small seed of hope that she had nourished sprout new leaves at the idea that Sarra might be having second thoughts. She wanted nothing more than her daughter's happiness, and Charley was a good man, but it created a hollow ache in her chest every time she thought of losing Sarra. Daine was learning for the first time what it had cost her mother to relinquish her from the promise she had made and allow her to return to the mortal realm to be with Numair.

Silently scolding herself, she finished lacing Sarra's dress and said, "Why do you ask?"

"I've never asked before and it seems like the kind of thing I should know before getting married."

Damn, no cold feet. Daine steered Sarra to a chair in front of the mirror and began to work a brush through her thick hair. With the parents she had Sarra had always been doomed to be cursed with unruly locks, but if Daine had anything to say about it then everything would be perfect today, even if it meant doing battle with curls that wouldn't stay where they were put.

"It took me a while to realise I was in love with your Da," she began slowly. "I didn't figure it out until I was sixteen, but I think I loved him for a lot longer than that. I tore a palace apart when I thought he had been killed."

"You _what?_"

Daine grinned. When she was pregnant with Sarra, she and Numair had decided not to tell their children of all their adventures unless they asked about them. They had seen far too many terrifying things in their time together, things that gave them nightmares. They had no wish to inflict those images on their children. But children have a way of finding out things for themselves, and little by little they had pieced together the tales of their parents' lives through gossip and stories. It surprised Daine that they had never heard of the destruction of the Carthaki palace; even now, more than thirty years later, that story was a legend in Tortall.

"Have you never heard how the Carthaki palace was destroyed with the help of resurrected animals and the Graveyard Hag?"

"That was _you?_"

"That was me. I thought the Carthaki emperor had killed your Da. I lost my temper."

"I'll say. So you didn't realise you were in love with him then?"

"No. I didn't realise until we were in the Divine Realm during the Immortals War. I fell off a cliff, got captured by spidrens and Numair rescued me. He thought I was dead. When he realised I wasn't he kissed me. It felt right. I knew straight away it was what I wanted."

"Even your romantic stories involve near death experiences!"

"That's the hazard of working for Jon," chuckled Daine. She set aside the brush, praying that the hair would stay in place, and began fixing delicate jasmine blossoms into Sarra's curls. "How did you know you were in love with Charley?"

"Ma!" protested Sarra, blushing and squirming until Daine tapped her lightly with the brush.

"I told you mine, it's only fair that I hear yours."

There followed a few minutes of more blushing and protesting until Sarra finally relented and agreed to tell the story. "I knew that I _liked_ him for a while, but I didn't know I loved him until my second year in the Riders. We had to ride up to the Scanran border to investigate reports of bandits. It was tough riding because a lot of the roads had been flooded, and somewhere along the way I lost my pack. I ended up having to share a tent and bedroll with Charley. The others started to gossip so Charley left the tent, even though the other men teased him mercilessly the next morning."

"Sounds like something your Da would have done," said Daine approvingly. "By the way, _never _tell him that story."

Sarra stared up at her mother in confusion. "But he _left _the bedroll."

"That won't matter."

"But surely Da knows that…" Sarra flushed again, reminding Daine strongly of Numair during their first few weeks as a couple. "I mean, I'm getting married today. He must realise."

"Your Da goes to great lengths to live in a state of ignorance. It's the only reason Charley isn't a tree."

Daine sighed as she fixed the last jasmine blossom into Sarra's hair. Soon she would have to relinquish Sarra to Thayet, who had insisted on being the one to apply her make up. In fact, all of her adopted aunts and uncles had wanted to be involved in some way. Alanna was supervising the placement of chairs and tables, Jon was going to preside over the ceremony, Kel was currently ensuring that everybody was cleaned and dressed to her standards and George was kindly testing all the food before it left the kitchens.

Thayet would bring with her a hoard of women and Daine's time alone with her daughter would be over. After that Sarra's grandma and grandda would want to see her, and then all of her friends and adopted family, and after that it would be time for the wedding. Sarra and Charley were leaving to spend some time in the north straight after the celebrations. Who knew when she would see Sarra again?

Delaying the moment of separation, Daine said, "Do you have something old?"

Sarra nodded and produced a delicate handkerchief with "TC" embroidered in light blue in the corner. Daine guessed that the initials stood for "Thayet of Conté", and she silently thanked her friend.

"Something new?"

She extended her feet, displaying the new shoes she had bought for the day. "But I still need something borrowed and blue," she said, frowning in concentration as she looked around the room for something that would fulfil the criteria.

Daine thought about it for a moment, an idea forming. She was sure the badger wouldn't mind. It was only for one day, after all, and she was certain that a tasty dish at the wedding celebrations would placate him. Reaching up, she undid the leather thong and removed the badger claw that had hung around her neck for more than three decades. Despite the weight of it, she didn't feel suddenly lighter. She felt vulnerable. Seeing what her mother intended to do, Sarra's eyes widened. "Ma, no! I couldn't!"

"Yes you can," she said firmly. "It's only a loan, just for a day."

Before Sarra could protest any further Daine tied the claw around her neck. It was strange: for a moment it seemed to Daine that she was looking into the past, staring at her twenty year old self. "Thank you," whispered Sarra, grasping the claw in her hand. "I'll look after it."

"Something blue," said Daine, surprised to hear her voice crack. She wasn't sure whether it was her imminent separation from her daughter or the loss of the claw that caused it. "Kit!" she called.

Kitten, who had been playing in a pile of multicoloured silk in the next room, trotted up to Daine and whistled inquisitively. Her scales were a beautiful sky blue, the colour she favoured when she was happiest. "Do you think you can stay blue all day, Kit?"

The dragonet whistled happily and clapped her forepaws. "There," said Daine. "You have your something blue."

Mother and daughter smiled at each other, and Daine realised there was so much that she wanted to say. She wanted to tell Sarra to be happy, and that she would always have a home with her and Numair. She also wanted to tell her how proud both she and Numair were, not just for today but for everything she had achieved in her life. Daine had always been known for speaking her mind but today words seemed to fail her. Before she could figure out a way to voice her feelings Thayet burst into the room, bringing with her a dozen attendants. Daine had lost her chance. But from the way Sarra stroked the claw and smiled, she guessed her daughter already knew.


End file.
